Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 


Los  Angeles 


Form  Ll 

PS 
1800 

v.3 


yThis  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


NOV23|961 
EC  14196 


THE   CHARM   OF   SIS   POTEET 


Sooklobers  edition 


MINGO 

AND  OTHER  SKETCHES  IN 
BLACK  AND  WHITE 


By 
JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 
NEW  YORK 

499S1 


COPYRIGHT,    1884,    BY  JOEL   CHANDLER   HARRIS 
COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY  ESTHER  LA  ROSE  HARRIS 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


-PS 

o 


CONTENTS. 


PAGX 

I  MENGO  :  A  SKETCH  OF  LIFE  IN  MIDDLE  GEORGIA  .        1 

I  AT  TBAGUE  POTEET'S  :  A  SKETCH  OF  THE  HOG 

MOUNTAIN  RANGE 37 

«  BLUE  DAVE 169 

.  A  PIECE  OF  LAND 235 


MINGO: 


A  SKETCH  OF  LIFE  IN  MIDDLE  GEOKGIA. 


I. 

, 
IN  1876,  circumstances,  partly  accidental  and 

partly  sentimental,  ltd  me  to  revisit  Crooked 
Creek  Church,  near  the  little  village  of  Rock- 
ville,  in  Middle  Georgia.  I  was  amazed  at 
the  changes  which  a  few  brief  years  had 
wrought.  The  ancient  oaks  ranged  roundabout 
remained  the  same,  but  upon  everything  else 
time  had  laid  its  hand  right  heavily.  Even  the 
building  seemed  to  have  shrunk ;  the  pulpit 
was  less  massive  and  imposing,  the  darkness 
beyond  the  rafters  less  mysterious.  The 
preacher  had  grown  gray,  and  feebleness  had 
taken  the  place  of  that  physical  vigor  which 


4  MINGO. 

was  formerly  the  distinguishing  feature  of  his 
interpretations  of  the  larger  problems  of  theol- 
ogy.    People  I  had  never  seen  sat  in  the  places 
of  those  I  had  known  so  well.     There  were  only 
traces  here  and  there  of  the  old  congregation, 
whose  austere    simplicity  had    made    so  deep 
an  impression    upon  my   youthful  mind.     The 
blooming   girls  of   1860  had   grown  into   care- 
worn   matrons,  and  the  young   men   had   de- 
;  veloped     in     their     features     the      strenuous 
\uncertainty  and  misery  of  the  period  of  deso- 
lation and    disaster    thrbugh    which  they  had 
(passed.    ^Anxietv   had   so    ground    itself   into 
their  lives    that    a    stranger    to    the    manner 
might  well  have  been  pardoned  for  giving  a 
sinister  interpretation  to  these  pitiable  mani- 
festations of  hopelessness  and  unsuccess. 

I  had  known  the  venerable  preacher  inti- 
mately in  the  past;  but  his  eyes,  wandering 
vaguely  over  the  congregation,  and  resting 
curiously  upon  me,  betrayed  no  recognition. 
Age,  which  had  whitened  his  hair  and  en- 
feebled his  voice,  seemed  also  to  have  givea 


MINGO.  5 

him  the   privilege   of   ignoring  everything  but 
the  grave  and  the  mysteries  beyond. 

These  swift  processes  of  change  and  decay 
were  calculated  to  make  a  profound  impres- 
sion, but  my  attention  was  called  away  from 
all  such  reflections.  Upon  a  bench  near  the 
pulpit,  in  the  section  reserved  for  the  colored 
members,  sat  an  old  negro  man  whose  face 
was  perfectly  familiar.  I  had  known  him  in 
my  boyhood  as  Mingo,  the  carriage-driver  and 
body-servant  of  Judge  Junius  Wornum.  He 
had  changed  but  little.  His  head  was  whiter 
than  when  I  saw  him  last ;  but  his  attitude  was 
as  firm  and  as  erect,  and  the  evidences  of  his 
wonderful  physical  strength  as  apparent,  as 
ever.  He  sat  with  his  right  hand  to  his  chin, 
his  strong  serious  face  turned  contemplatively 
toward  the  rafters.  "When  his  eye  chanced  to 
meet  mine,  a  smile  of  recognition  lit  up  his 
features,  his  head  and  body  drooped  forward, 
and  his  hand  fell  away  from  his  face,  com- 
pleting a  salutation  at  once  graceful,  pictur- 
esque, and  imposing. 


6  MINGO. 

I  have  said  that  few  evidences  of  change 
manifested  themselves  in  Mingo ;  and  so  it 
seemed  at  first,  but  a  closer  inspection  showed 
one  remarkable  change.  I  had  known  him 
when  his  chief  purpose  in  life  seemed  to  be  to 
enjoy  himself.  He  was  a  slave,  to  be  sure,  but 
his  condition  was  no  restraint  upon  his  spirits. 
He  was  known  far  and  wide  as  "  Laughing 
Mingo,"  and  upon  hundreds  of  occasions  he 
was  the  boon  companion  of  the  young  men 
about  Rockville  in  their  wild  escapades.  Many 
who  read  this  will  remember  the  "  'possum 
suppers"  which  it  was  Mingo's  delight  to  pre- 
pare for  these  young  men,  and  he  counted 
among  his  friends  and  patrons  many  who  af- 
terward became  distinguished  both  in  war  and 
in  the  civil  professions.  At  these  gatherings 
Mingo,  bustling  around  and  serving  his  guests, 
^ould  keep  the  table  in  a  roar  with  his  quaint 
sayings  and  local  satires  in  the  shape  of  im- 
promptu doggerel ;  and  he  would  also  repeat 
snatches  of  orations  which  he  had  heard  in 
Washington  when  Judge  Wornum  was  a  mem- 


MINGO.  7 

her  of  Congress.  But  his  chief  accomplish- 
ments lay  in  the  wonderful  ease  and  fluency 
with  which  he  imitated  the  eloquent  appeals 
of  certain  ambitious  members  of  the  Rockville 
bar,  and  in  his  travesties  of  the  bombastic 
flights  of  the  stump-speakers  of  that  day. 

It  appeared,  however,  as  he  sat  in  the 
church,  gazing  thoughtfully  and  earnestly  at 
the  preacher,  that  the  old-time  spirit  of  fun  and 
humor  had  been  utterly  washed  out  of  his  face. 
There  was  no  sign  of  grief,  no  mark  of  distress, 
but  he  had  the  air  of  settled  anxiety  belonging 
to  those  who  are  tortured  by  an  overpowering 
responsibility.  Apparently  here  was  an  inter- 
esting study.  If  the  responsibilities  of  life  are 
problems  to  those  who  have  been  trained  to 
solve  them,  how  much  more  formidable  must 
they  be  to  this  poor  negro  but  lately  lifted  to 
his  feet !  Thus  my  reflections  took  note  of  the 
pathetic  associations  and  suggestions  clustering 
around  this  dignified  representative  of  an  un- 
fortunate race. 

Upon  this  particular  occasion  church  services 


8  MINGO. 

were  to  extend  into  the  afternoon,  and  there 
•was  an  interval  of  rest  after  the  morning  ser- 
mon, covering  the  hour  of  noon.  This  interval 
was  devoted  by  both  old  and  young  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  matters  seriously  practical.  The 
members  of  the  congregation  had  brought  their 
dinner  baskets,  and  the  contents  thereof  were 
spread  around  under  the  trees  in  true  pastoral 
style.  Those  who  came  unprovided  were,  in 
pursuance  of  an  immemorial  custom  of  the  sec- 
tion and  the  occasion,  taken  in  charge  by  the 
simple  and  hearty  hospitality  of  the  members. 

Somehow  I  was  interested  in  watching  Mingo. 
As  he  passed  from  the  church  with  the  congre- 
gation, and  moved  slowly  along  under  the 
trees,  he  presented  quite  a  contrast  to  the  other 
negroes  who  were  present.  These,  with  the 
results  of  their  rural  surroundings  superadded 
to  the  natural  shyness  of  their  race,  hung  upon 
the  outskirts  of  the  assembly,  as  though  their 
presence  was  merely  casual,  while  Mingo  passed 
along  from  group  to  group  of  his  white  friends 
and  acquaintances  with  that  familiar  and  confi- 


M1NGO. 

dent  air  of  meritorious  humility  and  unpreten- 
tious dignity  which  is  associated  with  good- 
breeding  and  gentility  the  world  over.  Whem' 
he  lifted  his  hat  in  salutation,  there  was  no 
servility  in  the  gesture ;  when  he  bent  his  head, 
and  dropped  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  his  dig- 
nity was  strengthened  and  fortified  rather  than 
compromised.  Both  Ins  manners  and  his  dress 
retained  the  flavor  of^a  social  system  theexcep- 
tional  features  of  which  were  too  often,  by  both 
friend  and  foe,  made  to  stand  for  the  system 
itself.  His  tall  beaver,  with  its  curled  brim, 
and  his  blue  broadcloth  dress-coat,  faded  and 
frayed,  with  its  brass  buttons,  bore  unmistak- 
able evidence  of  their  age  and  origin ;  but  they 
seemed  to  be  a  reasonable  and  necessary  con- 
tribution to  his  individuality. 

Passing  slowly  through  the  crowd,  Mingo 
made  his  way  to  a  double-seated  buggy  shielded 
from  all  contingencies  of  sun  and  rain  by  an 
immense  umbrella.  From  beneath  the  seat  he 
drew  forth  a  large  hamper,  and  proceeded  to 
arrange  its  contents  upon  a  wide  bench  which 
Stood  near. 


10  MINGO. 

While  this  was  going  on,  I  observed  a  tall, 
angular  woman,  accompanied  by  a  bright-look- 
ing little  girl,  making  her  way  toward  Mingo's 
buggy.  The  woman  was  plainly,  even  shabbily, 
dressed,  so  that  the  gay  ribbons  and  flowers 
worn  by  the  child  were  gaudy  by  contrast.  The 
woman  pressed  forward  with  decision,  her  move- 
ments betraying  a  total  absence  of  that  undula- 
tory  grace  characteristic  of  the  gentler  sex, 
while  the  little  girl  dancing  about  her  showed 
not  only  the  grace  and  beauty  of  youth,  but  a 
certain  refinement  of  pose  and  gesture  calcu- 
lated to  attract  attention. 

Mingo  made  way  for  these  with  ready  defer- 
ence, and  after  a  little  I  saw  him  coming  toward 
me.  He  came  forward,  shook  hands,  and  re- 
marked that  he  had  brought  me  an  invitation  to 
dine  with  Mrs.  Feratia  Bivins. 

"Miss  F'raishy  'members  you,  boss,"  he 
said,  bowing  and  smiling,  "  en  she  up  V  say  she 
be  mighty  glad  er  yo'  comp'ny  ef  you  kin  put 
up  wid  cole  vittles  an'  po'  far' ;  en  ef  you 
come,"  he  added  on  his  own  account,  "  we  like 
it  mighty  well." 


II. 


ACCEPTING  the  invitation,  I  presently  found 
myself  dining  with  Mrs.  Bivins,  and  listening 
to  her  remarkable  flow  of  small  talk,  while 
Mingo  hovered  around,  the  embodiment  of  ac- 
tive hospitality. 

"Mingo  'lowed  he'd  ast  you  up,"  said  Mrs. 
Bivins,  "  an'  I  says,  says  I,  *  Don't  you  be  a-pes- 
terin'  the  gentulrnun,  when  you  know  thar's 
plenty  er  the  new-issue  quality  ready  an'  a-waitin' 
to  pull  an'  haul  at  'im,'  says  I.  Not  that  I  be- 
grudges the  vittles,  —  not  by  no  means  ;  I  hope  I 
hain't  got  to  that  yit.  But  somehow  er  'nother 
folks  what  hain't  got  no  great  shakes  to 
'bout  gener'ly  feels  sorter  skittish  when  strange 
folks  draps  in  on  'em.  Goodness  knows,  I  hain't 
come  to  that  pass  wher'  I  begrudges  the  vittles 
that  folks  eats,  bekaze  anybody  betweenst  this  an' 


12  MINGO. 

Clinton,  Jones  County,  Georgy,  '11  tell  you  the 
Sanderses  wa'  n't  the  set  to  stint  the'r  stomachs. 
I  was  a  Sanders  'fore  I  married,  an'  when  I 
come  'way  frum  pa's  house  hit  was  thes  like 
turnin'  my  back  on  a  barbecue.  Not  by  no 
means  was  I  begrudgin'  of  the  vittles.  Says  I, 
*  Mingo,'  says  I, '  ef  the  gentulmun  is  a  teetotal 
stranger,  an'  nobody  else  hain't  got  the  common 
perliteness  to  ast  'im,  shorely  you  mus'  ast  'im,' 
says  I ;  *  but  don't  go  an'  make  no  great  to-do,' 
says  I,  'bekaze  the  little  we  got  mightent  be  sat- 
isfactual  to  the  gentulmun,'  says  I.  What  we 
got  may  be  little  enough,  an'  it  may  be  too  much, 
but  hit 's  welcome." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  convey  an  idea  of 
the  emphasis  which  Mrs.  Bivins  imposed  upon 
her  conversation.  She  talked  rapidly,  and  yet 
with  a  certain  deliberation  of  manner  which  gave 
a  quaint  interest  to  everything  she  said.  She 
had  thin  gray  hair,  a  prominent  nose,  firm  thin 
lips,  and  eyes  that  gave  a  keen  and  sparkling 
individuality  to  sharp  and  homely  features.  She 
had  evidently  seen  sorrow  and  defied  it.  There 


MINGO.  13 

was  no  suggestion  of  compromise  in  manner  or 
expression.  Even  her  hospitality  was  uncompro- 
mising. I  endeavored  to  murmur  my  thanks  to 
Mrs.  Bivins  for  Mingo's  thoughtfulnesa,  but  her 
persistent  conversation  drowned  out  such  poor 
phrases  as  I  could  hastily  frame. 

"  Come  'ere,  Pud  Hon,"  continued  Mrs.  Bivins, 
calling  the  child,  and  trimming  the  demonstra- 
tive terms  of  "  Pudding"  and  "  Honey  "  to  suit 
all  exigencies  of  affection,  — "  come  'ere,  Pud 
Hon,  an'  tell  the  gentulmun  howdy.  Gracious 
me  !  don't  be  so  countrified.  He  ain't  a-gwine  to 
bite  you.  No,  sir,  you  won't  fine  no  begrudgers 
mixed  up  with  the  Sander 'see.  Hit  useter  be  a 
common  sayin'  in  Jones,  an'  cle'r  'cross  into  Jas- 
per, that  pa  would  'a'  bin  a  rich  man  an'  'a'  owned 
niggers  if  it  had  n't  but  'a'  bin  bekase  he  sot  his 
head  ag'in  stintin'  of  his  stomach.  That 's  what 
they  useter  say,  —  use  n't  they,  Mingo  ?" 

"Dat  w'at  I  year  tell,  Miss  Fraishy  —  sho'," 
Mingo  assented,  with  great  heartiness.  But  Mrs. 
Bivins's  volubility  would  hardly  wait  for  this 
perfunctory  indorsement.  She  talked  as  she 


14  MINGO. 

arranged  the  dishes,  and  occasionally  she  would 
hold  a  piece  of  crockery  suspended  in  the  air  as 
she  emphasized  her  words.  She  dropped  into  a 
mortuary  strain :  — 

"  Poor  pa  !  I  don't  never  have  nothin'  extry 
an'  I  don't  never  see  a  dish  er  fried  chicken  but 
what  pa  pops  in  my  mind.  A  better  man  hain't 
never  draw'd  the  breath  of  life,  —  that  they  hain't. 
An'  he  was  thes  as  gayly  as  a  kitten.  When  we 
gals'd  have  comp'ny  to  dinner,  pore  pa  he  'd  cut 
his  eye  at  me,  an'  up  an'  say,  says  he,  '  Gals,  this 
'ere  turkey 's  mighty  nice,  yit  I  'm  reely  afeared 
you  put  too  much  inguns  in  the  dressin'.  Maybe 
the  young  men  don't  like  'em  as  good  as  you  all 
does  ; '  an'  then  pore  pa  'd  drap  his  knife  an' 
fork,  an'  laugh  tell  the  tears  come  in  his  eyes. 
Sister  Prue  she  useter  run  off  an'  have  a  cry, 
but  I  let  you  know  I  was  one  er  the  kind  what 
wa'  n't  so  easy  sot  back. 

"I'd  'a'  bin  mighty  glad  if  Pud  yer  had  er 
took  airter  pa's  famerly,  but  frum  the  tip  eend 
er  her  toe  nails  to  the  toppermust  ha'r  of  her 
head  she's  a  Wornum.  Hit  ain't  on'y  thes  a 


MINGO.  15 

streak  yer  an'  a  stripe  thar, — hit's  the  whole 
bolt.  I  reckon  maybe  you  know'd  ole  Jedge 
June  Wornum ;  well,  Jedge  June  he  was  Pud's 
gran'pa,  an'  Deely  Wornum  was  her  ma. 
Maybe  you  might  'a'  seed  Deely  when  she  was 
a  school-gal." 

Cordelia  Wornum !  No  doubt  my  astonish- 
ment made  itself  apparent,  for  Mrs.  Bivins 
bridled  up  promptly,  and  there  was  a  clearly 
perceptible  note  of  defiance  in  her  tone  as  she 
proceeded. 

"  Yes,  sir-ree !  An'  maize  no  mistake  !  Deely 
Wornum  married  my  son,  an'  Henry  Clay 
Bivins  made  'er  a  good  husbun',  if  I  do  have 
to  give  it  out  myse'f.  Yes,  'ndeed !  An'  yit 
if  you'd  'a'  heern  the  rippit  them  Wornums 
kicked  up,  you  'd  'a'  thought  the  pore  chile '  d 
done  took  'n'  run  off  'long  of  a  whole  passel  er 
high  pirates  frum  somewheres  er  'nother.  In 
about  that  time  the  ole  Jedge  he  got  sorter 
fibbled  up,  some  say  in  his  feet,  an'  some  say  in 
his  head ;  but  his  wife,  that  Em'ly  Wornum, 
she  taken  on  awful.  I  never  seen  her  a-gwine 


16  MINGO. 

on  myse'f ;  not  that  they  was  any  hidin'  out 
'mongst  the  Bivinses  er  the  Sanderses, — bless 
you,  no  !  bekazc  here 's  what  wa'  n't  afeared  er 
all  the  Wornums  in  the  continental  State  er 
Georgy,  not  if  they  'd  'a'  mustered  out  under 
the  lead  er  ole  Nick  hisse'f,  which  I  have  my 
doubts  if  he  wa'n't  somewheres  aroun'.  I 
never  seen  'er,  but  I  heern  tell  er  how  she  was 
a-cuttin'  up.  You  mayn't  think  it,  but  that 
'oman  taken  it  on  herse'f  to  call  up  all  the 
niggers  on  the  place  an'  give  'em  her  forbid- 
dance  to  go  an'  see  the'r  young  inistiss." 

"  Yit  I  lay  dey  tuck  'n'  sneak  'roun'  en  come 
anyhow,  ain't  dey,  Miss  F'raishy?"  inquired 
Mingo,  rubbing  his  hands  together  and  smiling 
blandly. 

"  That  they  did,  —  that  they  did  !  "  was  Mrs. 
Bivins's  emphatic  response.  "  Niggers  is  nig- 
gers, but  them  Wornum  niggers  was  a  cut  er 
two  'bove  the  common  run.  I'll  say  that,  an' 
I'll  say  it  on  the  witness  stan'.  Freedom 
might  'a'  turned  the'r  heads  when  it  come  to 
^t'other  folks,  but  hit  didn't  never  turn  the'r 


MINGO.  17 

heads  'bout  the'r  young  mistiss.  An'  if  Mingo 
here  hain't  done  his  juty  'cordin'  to  his  lights, 
then  I  dunner  what  juty  is.  I  '11  say  that  open 
an'  above-board,  high  an'  low." 

The  curious  air  of  condescension  which  Mrs. 
Bivins  assumed  as  she  said  this,  the  tone  of 
apology  which  she  employed  in  paying  this 
tribute  to  Mingo  and  the  Wornum  negroes, 
formed  a  remarkable  study.  Evidently  she 
desired  me  distinctly  to  understand  that  in 
applauding  these  worthy  colored  people  she 
in  no  wise  compromising  her  own  dignity. 

Thus  Mrs.  Bivins  rattled  away,  pausing  only 
long  enough  now  and  then  to  deplore  my  lack 
of  appetite.  Meanwhile  Mingo  officiated  around 
the  improvised  board  with  gentle  affability ; 
and  the  little  girl,  bearing  strong  traces  of  her 
lineage  in  her  features,  —  a  resemblance  which 
was  confirmed  by  a  pretty  little  petulance  of 
temper,  —  made  it  convenient  now  and  again 
to  convey  a  number  of  tea  cakes  into  Mingo's 
hat,  which  happened  to  be  sitting  near,  the 
conveyance  taking  place  in  spite  of  laughable 
2 


18  MINGO. 

pantomimic  protests  on  the  part  of  the  old  man 
ranging  from  appealing  nods  and  grimaces  to 
indignant  gestures  and  frowns. 

"When  Deely  died,"  Mrs.  Bivins  went  on, 
waving  a  towel  over  a  tempting  jar  of  preserves, 
"  they  wa'  n't  nobody  but  what  was  af eared  to 
break  it  to  Emily  Wornum,  an'  the  pore  chile  'd 
done  been  buried  too  long  to  talk  about  before 
her  ma  heern  tell  of  it,  an'  then  she  drapped 
like  a  clap  er  thunder  had  hit  'er.  Airter  so 
long  a  time,  Mingo  thar  he  taken  it  'pun  hisse'f 
to  tell  'er,  an'  she  flopped  right  down  in  'er 
tracks,  an'  Mingo  he  hepped  'er  into  the  house, 
an',  bless  your  life,  when  he  come  to  he'p  'er 
out  'n  it,  she  was  a  changed  'oman.  'T  wa'  n't 
long  'fore  she  taken  a  notion  to  come  to  my 
house,  an'  one  mornin*  when  I  was  a-washin' 
up  dishes,  I  heern  some  un  holler  at  the  gate, 
an'  thar  sot  Mingo  peerched  up  on  the  Wornum 
carry-all,  an'  of  all  livin'  flesh,  who  should  be 
in  thar  but  ole  Emily  Wornum ! 

"  Hit 's  a  sin  to  say  it,"  continued  Mrs.  Bivins, 
smiling  a  dubious  little  smile  that  was  not  with- 


AflNGO.  19 

out  its  serious  suggestions,  "  but  I  tightened  up 
my  apern  strings,  an'  flung  my  glance  aroun' 
tell  hit  drapped  on  the  battlin'-stick,  bekaze  I 
flared  up  the  minnit  I  seen  'er,  -an'  I  says  to 
myse'f,  says  I, l  If  hit's  a  fracas  you  er  huntin', 
my  lady,  I  lay  you  won't  hafter  put  on  your 
specs  to  fine  it.'  An'  ^hen  I  says  to  Pud, 
says  I,— 

"  «  Pud  2on,  go  in  the  shed-room  thar,  chile, 
an'  if  you  hear  anybody  a-hollcrin'  an'  a-squallin' 
ther',  shet  your  eyeleds  an'  grit  your  teeth, 
bekaze  hit '11  be  your  pore  ole  granny  a-tryinr 
to  git  even  with  some  er  your  kin.' 

"  An'  then  I  taken  a  cheer  an'  sot  down  by 
the  winder.  D'reckly  in  come  Emily  Wornum, 
an'  I  wish  I  may  die  if  I  'd  'a'  know'd  'er  if 
I'd  saw  'er  anywheres  else  on  the  face  er  the 
yeth.  She  had  this  'ere  kinder  dazzled  look 
what  wimmen  has  airter  they  bin  baptized  in 
the  water.  I  helt  my  head  high,  but  I  kep' 
my  eye  on  the  battlin'-stick,  an'  if  she'd  'a' 
made  fight,  I'd  be  boun'  they'd  'a'  bin  some 
ole  sco'es  settled  then  an'  thar  if  ole  sco'e** 


20  MINGO. 

ken  be  settled  by  a  frailinV  But,  bless  your 
heart,  they  wa'  n't  never  no  cammer  'oman  than 
what  Emily  Wornum  was ;  an'  if  you  'd  'a* 
know'd  'er,  an'  Mingo  wa'  n't  here  to  b'ar  me 
out,  I  wish  I  may  die  if  I  would  n't  be  afeared 
to  tell  you  how  ca'm  an'  supjued  that  'oman 
was,  which  in  her  young  days  she  was  a  tarri- 
fier.  She  up  an'  says,  says  she, — 

"'IsMizzers  Bivins  in?' 

"'Yessum,'  says  I,  'she  is  that-away.  An* 
more  'n  that,  nobody  don't  hafter  come  on  this 
hill  an'  holler  more'n  twicet  'thout  gittin* 
some  kinder  answer  back.  Yessum!  An* 
what 's  more,  Mizzers  Bivins  is  come  to  that 
time  er  life  when  she's  mighty  proud  to  git 
calls  from  the  big-bugs.  If  I  had  as  much 
perliteness,  ma'am,  as  I  is  cheers,  I  'd  ast 
you  to  set  down,'  says  I. 

"She  stood  thar,  she  did,  thes  as  cool  as  a 
cowcumber;  but  d'reckly  she  ups  an'  says, 
says  she, — 

"'Might  I  see  my  little  gran'chile?'   says 


MINGO.  21 

" '  Oho,  ma'am  ! '  says  I ;  '  things  is  come  to 
a  mighty  purty  pass  when  quality  folks  has  to 
go  frum  house  to  house  a-huntin'  up  pore  white 
trash,  an'  a-astin'  airter  the'r  kin.  Tooby 
shore !  tooby  shore  !  Yessum,  a  mighty  purty 
pass,'  says  I." 

I  cannot  hope  to  give  even  a  faint  intima- 
tion of  the  remarkable  dramatic  fervor  and 
earnestness  of  this  recital,  nor  shall  I  attempt 
to  describe  the  rude  eloquence  of  attitude  and 
expression ;  but  they  seemed  to  represent  the 
real  or  fancied  wrongs  of  a  class,  and  to  spring 
from  the  pent-up  rage  of  a  century. 

"  I  wa'  n't  lookin'  fer  no  compermise,  nuther," 
Mrs.  Bivins  continued.  "  I  fully  spected  'er 
to  flar'  up  an'  fly  at  me ;  hut  'stedder  that,  she 
kep'  a-stan'in'  thar  lookin'  thos  like  folks 
does  when  they  er  runnin'  over  sump'n  in  the'r 
min'.  Then  her  eye  lit  on  some  er  the  pictur's 
what  Deely  had  hung  up  on  the  side  er  the 
house,  an'  in  pertic'lar  one  what  some  er  the 
Wornum  niggers  had  fetched  'er,  whar  a  great 
big  dog  was  a-vatchin'  by  a  little  bit  er  baby. 


22  MINGO. 

When  she  seen  that,  bless  your  soul,  she  thes 
sunk  right  down  on  the  floor,  an'  clincht  'er 
ban's,  an'  brung  a  gasp  what  looked  like  it 
might  er  bin  the  last,  an'  d'reckly  she  ast,  in 
a  whisper,  says  she, — 

"  *  Was  this  my  dear  daughter's  room  ? ' 
"  Maybe  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Bivins,  regard- 
ing me  coldly  and  critically,  and  pressing  her 
thin  lips  more  firmly  together,  if  that  could 
be,  —  "maybe  you  think  I  oughter  wrung  my 
han's,  an'  pitied  that  'oman  kneelin'  thar  in 
that  room  whar  all  my  trouble  was  born  an' 
bred.  Some  folks  would  'a'  flopped  down  by 
'er,  an'  I  won't  deny  but  what  hit  come  over 
me;  but  the  nex*  minnit  hit  flashed  acrost 
me  as  quick  an'  hot  as  powder  how  she'd  'a' 
bin  a-houndin'  airter  me  an'  my  son,  an'  a-treat- 
in'  us  like  as  we'd  'a'  bin  the  offscourin's  er 
creation,  an'  how  she  cast  off  her  own  daugh- 
ter, which  Deely  was  as  good  a  gal  as  ever 
draw'd  the  breath  er  life,  —  when  all  this  come 
over  me,  hit  seem  like  to  me  that  I  could  n't  keep 
my  paws  off  'n  'er.  I  hope  the  Lord  '11  forgive 


MINGO.  23 

me, — that  I  do,  —  but  if  hit  hadn't  but  'a'  bin 
for  my  raisin',  I  'd  'a'  jumped  at  Emily  Wornum 
an'  'a'  spit  in  'er  face  an'  'a'  clawed  'er  eyes 
out'n  'er.  An'  yit,  with  ole  Nick  a-tuggin'  at 
me,  I  was  a  Christun  'miff  to  thank  the  Lord 
that  they  was  a  tender  place  in  that  pore 
mizerbul  creetur's  soul-case. 

"  When  I  seen  her  a-kneelin'  thar,  with  'er 
year-rings  a-danglin'  an'  'er  fine  feathers  a- 
tossin'  an'  a-trimblin',  leetle  more  an'  my 
thoughts  would  'a'  sot  me  afire.  I  riz  an'  I 
stood  over  her,  an'  I  says,  says  I, — 

"'Emily  Wornum,  whar  you  er  huntin'  the 
dead  you  oughter  hunted  the  livin'.  What's 
betwix'  you  an'  your  Maker  I  can't  tell,'  says 
I, '  but  if  you  git  down  on  your  face  an'  lick 
the  dirt  what  Deely  Bivins  walked  on,  still 
you  won't  be  humble  enough  for  to  go  whar 
she's  gone,  nor  good  enough  mither.  She 
died  right  yer  while  you  was  a-traipsin'  an' 
a-trollopin'  roun'  frum  pos'  to  pillar  a-upholdin' 
your  quality  idees.  These  arms  belt  'er,' 
says  I,  *  an'  ef  hit  had  n't  but  'a'  bin  for  her. 


24  MINGO. 

Emily  Wornum,'  says  I,  'I'd  V  strangled  the 
life  out  'n  you  time  your  shadder  darkened  my 
door.  An'  what's  more,'  says  I,  <ef  you  er 
come  to  bother  airter  Pud,  thes  make  the  trial 
of  it.  Thes  so  much  as  lay  the  weight  er  your 
little  finger  on  'er,'  says  I,  lan  I'll  grab  you 
by  the  goozle  an'  far  your  haslet  out,'  says  I." 

Oh,  mystery  of  humanity !  It  was  merely 
Mrs.  Feratia  Bivins  who  had  been  speaking, 
but  the  voice  was  the  voice  of  Tragedy.  Its 
eyes  shone;  its  fangs  glistened  and  gleamed; 
its  hands  clutched  the  air:  its  tone  was  husky 
with  suppressed  fury;  its  rage  would  have 
stormed  the  barriers  of  the  grave.  In  another 
moment  Mrs.  Bivins  was  brushing  the  crumbs 
from  her  lap,  and  exchanging  salutations  with 
her  neighbors  and  acquaintances;  and  a  little 
later,  leading  her  grandchild  by  the  hand,  she 
was  making  her  way  back  to  the  church,  where 
the  congregation  had  begun  to  gather. 


m. 


FOE  my  own  part,  I  preferred  to  remain 
under  the  trees,  and  I  soon  found  that  this 
was  the  preference  of  Mingo.  The  old  man 
had  finished  his  dinner,  and  sat  at  the  foot 
of  a  gigantic  oak,  gazing  dreamily  at  the 
fleecy  clouds  that  sailed  across  the  sky.  His 
hands  were  clasped  above  his  head,  and  his 
attitude  was  one  of  reflection.  The  hymn  with 
which  the  afternoon  services  were  opened  came 
through  the  woods  with  a  distinctness  that  was 
not  without  a  remote  and  curious  suggestion 
of  pathos.  As  it  died  away,  Mingo  raised 
himself  slightly,  and  said,  in  a  tone  that  was 
intended  to  be  explanatory,  if  not  apologetic,  — 

"Miss  F'raishy,  ef  she  ain't  one  sight,  den 
I  ain't  never  seed  none.  I  s'pec'  it  seem  sor- 
ter funny  ter  you,  boss,  but  dat  w'ite  'oman 
done  had  lots  er  trouble;  she  done  had  bun- 


26  MINGO. 

nunce  er  trouble  —  she  sholy  is !  Look  mighty 
cu'us  dat  some  folks  can't  git  useter  yuther 
folks  w'at  got  Ferginny  ways,  but  dat's  Miss 
F'raishy  up  en  down.  Bat's  her,  sho'!  Ole 
Miss  en  ole  Marster  dey  had  Ferginny  ways, 
en  Miss  F'raishy  she  wouldn't  'a'  stayed  in  a 
ten-acre  fieF  wid  um,  —  dat  she  wouldn't. 
Folks  w'at  got  Ferginny  ways,  Miss  F'raishy 
she  call  um  big-bugs,  en  she  git  hosft'te  w'en 
she  year  der  name  call.  Hit's  de  same  way 
wid  niggers.  Miss  F'raishy  she  hate  de  com- 
/mon  run  er  niggers  like  dey  wuz  pizen.  Yit 
I  ain't  makin'  no  complaints,  kaze  she  mighty 
good  ter  me.  I  goes  en  I  suns  myse'f  in  Miss 
F'raishy  back  peazzer  all  day  Sundays,  w'en 
dey  ain't  no  meetin's  gwine  on,  en  all  endurin' 
er  de  week  I  hangs  'roun'  en  ploughs  a  little 
yer,  en  hoes  a  little  dar,  en  scratches  a  little 
yander,  en  looks  arter  ole  Miss'  gran'chile. 
But  des  let  'n'er  nigger  so  much  ez  stick  der 
chin  cross  de  yard  palin's,  en,  bless  yo'  soul, 
you'll  year  Miss  F'raishy  blaze  out  like  de 
woods  done  cotch  afire." 


MINGO.  27 

Mingo  paused  here  to  chuckle  over  the  dis- 
comfiture and  alarm  of  the  imaginary  negro  who 
had  had  the  temerity  to  stick  his  supposititious 
chin  over  the  fence.  Then  he  went  on  :  — 

"  I  dunner  whar  Miss  F'raishy  git  de  notion 
'bout  dat  chile  a-faverin'  er  de  Wornums,  kaze 
she  de  ve'y  spit  en  image  er  ole  Miss,  en  ole  Miss 
wuz  a  full-blood  Bushrod.  De  Bushrods  is  de 
fambly  what  I  cum  fum  myse'f,  kaze  w'en  ole 
Miss  marry  Marster,  my  mammy  fell  ter  her,  en 
w'en  I  got  big  'miff,  dey  tuck  me  in  de  house  fer 
ter  wait  on  de  table  en  do  er'n's,  en  dar  I  bin 
twel  freedom  come  out.  She  'uz  mighty  high- 
strung,  ole  Miss  wuz,  yit  I  sees  folks  dese  days 
put  on  mo'  a'rs  dan  w'at  ole  Miss  ever  is.  I  ain't 
'sputin'  but  w'at  she  hilt  'er  head  high,  en  I  year 
my  mammy  say  dat  all  the  Bushrods  in  Fer- 
ginny  done  zactly  dat  a  way. 

"High-strung  yer,  headstrong  yander,"  con- 
tinued Mingo,  closing  one  eye,  and  gazing  at  the 
sun  with  a  confidential  air.  "  Ef  it  had  n't  er 
bin  fer  de  high-strungity-head-strongityness  er 
de  Bushrod  blood,  Miss  Deely  would  n't  V  never 


28  MINGO. 

runn'd  off  wid  Clay  Bivins  in  de  roun'  worril, 
dough  he  'uz  des  one  er  de  nicest  w'ite  mens 
w'at  you  'mos'  ever  laid  yo'  eyes  on.  Soon  ez 
she  done  dat,  wud  went  'roun'  fum  de  big  house 
dat  de  nigger  w'at  call  Miss  Deely  name  on  dat 
plantation  would  be  clap  on  de  cote-house  block, 
en  ole  Miss  she  shot  'erse'f  up,  she  did,  en  arter 
dat  mighty  few  folks  got  a  glimpse  un  'er,  'cep- 
pin'  hit  'uz  some  er  de  kin,  en  bless  yo'  soul,  dey 
hatter  look  mighty  prim  w'en  dey  come  whar  she 
wuz.  Ole  Marster  he  ain't  say  nothin',  but  he 
tuck  a  fresh  grip  on  de  jimmy-john,  en  it  got  so 
dat,  go  whar  you  would,  dey  wa'  n't  no  mo'  lone- 
somer  place  on  de  face  er  de  yeth  dan  dat  Wor. 
num  plantation,  en  hit  look  like  ruination  done 
sot  in.  En  den,  on  top  er  dat,  yer  come  de  war, 
en  Clay  Bivins  he  went  off  en  got  kilt,  en  den 
freedom  come  out,  en  des  'bout  dat  time  Miss 
Deely  she  tuck  V  die. 

"  I  'clar'  ter  gracious,"  exclaimed  Mingo,  clos- 
ing his  eyes  and  frowning  heavily, "  we'n  I  looks 
back  over  my  shoulder  at  dem  times,  hit  seem 
it  mighty  funny  dat  any  un  us  pull  thoo. 


MINGO.  29 

Some  did  en  some  did  n't,  en  dem  w'at  did,  dey 
look  like  deyer  mighty  fergitful.  Wen  de  smash 
come,  ole  Marster  he  call  us  niggers  up,  he  did, 
en  'low  dat  we  'uz  all  free.  Some  er  de  boys 
'low  dat  dey  wuz  a-gwineter  see  ef  dey  wuz  free 
sho  'miff,  en  wid  dat  dey  put  out  fer  town,  en 
some  say  ef  dey  wuz  free  dey  wuz  free  ter  stay. 
Some  talk  one  way  en  some  talk  'n'er.  I  let 
you  know  I  kep*  my  mouf  shot,  yit  my  min'  'uz 
brim-ful  er  trouble. 

"  Bimeby  soon  one  mornin'  I  make  a  break. 
I  wrop  up  my  little  han'ful  er  duds  in  a 
hankcher,  en  I  tie  de  hankcher  on  my  walkin'- 
cane,  en  I  put  out  arter  de  army.  I  walk  en  I 
walk,  en  'bout  nine  dat  night  I  come  ter  Ingram 
Ferry.  De  flat  wuz  on  t'er  side  er  de  river, 
en  de  man  w'at  run  it  look  like  he  gone  off 
some'r's.  I  holler  en  I  whoop,  en  I  whoop  en 
I  holler,  but  ef  dey  wuz  any  man  'roun',  he 
wuz  hidin'  out  fum  me.  Arter  so  long  I  got 
tired  er  whoopin'  en  hollerin',  en  I  went  ter 
de  nighest  house  en  borrer'd  a  chunk,  en  built 
me  a  fier  by  de  side  er  de  road,  en  I  set  dar 


30  JdlNGO. 

en  nod  twel  I  git  sleepy,  en  den  I  pull  my 
blanket  'cross  my  head  en  quile  up  —  en  when 
I  do  dat,  it 's  good-by,  Mingo ! 

"  Boss,"  said  Mingo,  after  a  little  pause, 
"you  don't  b'leeve  in  no  ghos'es  en  ha'nts  en 
sperrits,  does  you  ?  " 

An  apparently  irrelevant  inquiry,  suddenly 
put,  is  sometimes  confusing,  and  I  fear  I  did 
not  succeed  in  convincing  Mingo  of  my  un- 
belief. 

"Some  does  en  some  don't,"  he  continued, 
•'  but  ez  fer  me,  you  kin  des  put  me  sorter 
'twix'  en  'tween.  Dej^jD^ut__bj^£bjo^ej_^fin 
den  ag'in  dey  moutent*,  Ole  nigger  like  me 
..""ain't  got  no  bizness  takin'  sides,  en  dat  w'at 
make  I  say  w'at  I  does.  I  ain't  mo'n  kivver 
my  head  wid  dat  blanket  en  shot  my  eyes,  'fo' 
I  year  somebody  a-callin'  un  me.  Fus'  hit 
soun'  way  off  yander. 

" «  Mingo !—  0  Mingo ! '  en  den  hit  got 
nigher  —  *  Mingo  I  —  0  Mingo  ! ' 

"  I  ain't  'spon'  ter  dat,  but  I  lay  dar,  I  did, 
en  I  say  ter  myse'f, — 


MINGO.  31 

" '  Bless  gracious !  de  man  on  t'er  side  done 
come  ;  but  how  in  de  name  er  goodness  is  he 
know  Mingo  ? ' 

"  I  lay  dar,  en  I  study  en  I  lissen,  en  I  lissen 
en  I  study ;  en  den  I  doze  off  like,  en  fus'  news 
I  know  yer  come  de  call, — 

" '  Mingo  !  —  0  Mingo  ! ' 

"  Hit  soun'  nigher,  yit  hit  seem  like  it  come 
fum  a  mighty  fur  ways,  en  den  wiles  I  wundin' 
en  study  in',  yer  she  come  mo'  plainer  dan 
befo',— 

" '  0  MINGO  ! ' 

"  I  snatch  de  blanket  off  'n  my  head,  en  sot 
up  en  lissen,  I  did,  en  den  I  make  answer,  — 

" '  Who  dat  callin'  Mingo  'way  out  yer  ? ' 

"  I  lissen  en  I  lissen,  but  nobody  ain't  callin'. 
I  year  de  water  sneakin'  'long  under  de  bank, 
en  I  year  de  win'  squeezin'  en  shufflin'  'long 
thoo  de  trees,  en  I  year  de  squinch-owl  shiver'n' 
like  he  cole,  but  I  ain'  year  no  callin'.  Dis 
make  me  feel  sorter  jubous  like,  but  I  lay 
down  en  wrop  up  my  head. 

"I  ain't  bin  dar  long  'fo'  bimeby  yer  come 


32  MINGO. 

de  call,  en  it  soun'  right  at  me.  Hit  rise  en 
it  fall,  en  de  wud  wuz, — 

" '  Mingo !  —0  Mingo !  Whar  my  little 
"baby?  My  little  baby,  Mingo!  Whar  my  lit- 
tle baby?' 

"  En  den,  boss,  hit  seem  like  I  year  sump'n 
like  a  'oman  cryin'  in  de  dark  like  'er  heart 
gwinetor  break.  You  kin  laff  ef  you  mineter, 
but  I  ain't  dast  ter  take  dat  blanket  off 'n  my 
head,  kaze  I  know  my  young  mistiss  done 
come  back,  en  mo'n  dat,  I  know  she  uz  stannin' 
dar  right  over  me. 

"  Tooby  sho',  I  wuz  skeer'd ;  but  I  wa'  n't  so 
skeer'd  dat  I  dunner  w'at  she  mean,  en  I  des 
broke  inter  de  bigges'  kinder  boo-hoo,  en  I 
say,  sez  I, — 

"  *  Make  yo'  peace,  Miss  Deely !  make  yo' 
peace,  honey !  kaze  I  gwine  right  back  ter  dat 
baby  ef  de  Lord  spar'  me.  I  gwine  back,  Miss 
Deely!  I  gwine  back!' 

"Bless  yo'  soul,  boss,  right  den  en  dar  I 
know'd  w'at  bin  a-pester'n'  un  me,  kaze  des 
time  I  make  up  my  min'  fer  ter  come  back  ter 


MINGO.  33 

dat  baby,  hit  look  like  I  see  my  way  mo'  cle'r 
dan  w  at  it  bin  befo'.  Arter  dat  I  lay  dar,  I 
did,  en  I  lissen  en  I  lissen,  but  I  ain't  year  no 
mo'  callin'  en  no  mo'  cryin' ;  en  bimeby  I  tuck 
de  blanket  fum  off  'n  my  bead,  en  lo  en  beboles, 
de  stars  done  fade  out,  en  day  done  come,  en 
dey  wa'  n't  no  fuss  nowhars.  De  squincb-owl 
done  hush,  en  de  win'  done  gone,  en  it  look 
like  de  water  done  stop  sneakin'  en  crawlin' 
und'  de  bank. 

"  I  riz  up,  I  did,  en  shuck  de  stiffness  out  'n 
my  bones,  en  I  look  'way  'cross  de  river  ter 
de  top  er  de  hill  whar  de  road  lead.  I  look 
en  I  say,  sez  I, — 

"'Maybe  you  leads  ter  freedom,  but,  bless 
God!  I  gwine  back.'  , 

"  Des  'bout  dat  time  I  see  de  fe'ymun  come 
down  ter  de  flat  en  onloose  de  chain,  en  mak  », 
ez  he  wuz  comin'  'cross  arter  me.  Wid  (Ltit 
I  raise  up  my  hat  en  tip  'im  a  bow,  en  dat's 
de  las'  I  seed  un  'im. 

"I  come  back,  I  did,"  continued  Mingo, 
reflectively,  "  en  yer  I  is,  en  yer  I  bin ;  en  I 


34  MINGO. 

ain't  come  none  too  soon,  en  I  ain't  stay 
none  too  close,  n'er,  kaze  I  dunner  w'at  mout 
er  happin.  Miss  F'raishy  been  mighty  good, 
too,  sho'.  She  ain't  useter  niggers  like  some 
w'ite  folks,  en  she  can't  git  'long  wid  um,  but 
she  puts  up  wid  me  mighty  well.  I  tuck  holt 
er  de  little  piece  er  groun'  w'at  she  had,  en 
by  de  he'p  er  de  Lord  we  bin  gittin'  on  better 
dan  lots  er  folks.  It  bin  nip  en  tuck,  but  ole 
tuck  come  out  ahead,  en  it  done  got  so  now  dat 
Miss  F'raishy  kin  put  by  some  er  de  cotton 
money  fer  ter  give  de  little  gal  a  chance  w'en 
she  git  bigger.  'T  won't  b'ar  tellin'  how  smart 
dat  chile  is.  She  got  Miss  Deely  peanner,  en, 
little  ez  she  is,  she  kin  pick  mos'  all  de  chunes 
w'at  'er  mammy  useter  pick.  She  sets  at  de 
peanner  by  de  hour,  en  whar  she  larnt  it  I  be 
bless  ef /kin  tell  you,  — dat  I  can't!" 

The  little  girl  had  grown  tired  of  the  services 
in  the  church,  and  ran  out  just  as  the  old  man 
had  put  my  horse  to  the  buggy.  Mingo  knew 
a  shorter  road  to  Rockville  than  that  by  which 
I  had  come,  and,  taking  the  child  by  the  hand, 


MINGO.  35 

he  walked  on  ahead  to  show  me  the  way.  In 
a  little  while  we  came  to  the  brow  of  a  hill, 
and  here  I  bade  the  old  man  and  his  charge 
good-by,  and  the  two  stood  watching  me  as  I 
drove  away.  Presently  a  cloud  of  dust  rose 
between  us,  and  I  saw  them  no  more;  but  I 
brought  away  a  very  pretty  picture  in  my  mind, 
—  Mingo  with  his  hat  raised  in  farewell,  the 
sunshine  falling  gently  upon  his  gray  hairs, 
and  the  little  girl  clinging  to  his  hand  and 
daintily  throwing  kisses  after  me. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

A  SKETCH  OF  THE  HOG  MOUNTAIN  BANGE. 


4998! 


AT    TEAGUE    POTEET'S. 

A  SKETCH  OF  THE  HOG  MOUNTAIN  RANGE. 


I. 

EMIGRATION  is  a  much  more  serious  matter 
than  revolution.  Virtually,  it  is  obliteration. 
Thus,  Gerard  Petit,  landing  upon  the  coast  of 
South  Carolina  in  the  days  of  French  confu- 
sion,—  a  period  covering  too  many  dates  for  a 
romancer  to  be  at  all  choice  in  the  matter, — 
gave  his  wife  and  children  over  to  the  oblivion 
of  a  fatal  fever.  Turning  his  face  westward, 
he  pushed  his  way  to  the  mountains.  He  had 
begun  his  journey  fired  with  the  despair  of  an 
exile,  and  he  ended  it  with  something  of  the 
energy  and  enterprise  of  a  pioneer.  In  the  foot- 
hills of  the  mountains  he  came  to  the  small 
stream  of  English  colonists  that  was  then  trick- 


40  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

ling  slowly  southward  through  the  wonderful  val- 
leys that  stretch  from  Pennsylvania  to  Georgia, 
between  the  foot-hills  of  the  Blue  Ridge  and 
the  great  Cumberland  Range.  Here,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time,  the  je,  vous>  nous  of  France 
met  in  conflict  the  "  ah-yi,"  the  "  we  uns  "  and 
the  "you  uns"  of  the  English-Pennsylvania- 
Georgians.  The  conflict  was  brief.  There  was 
but  one  Gerard  Petit,  and,  although  he  might 
multiply  the  je^  vous,  nous  by  the  thousands  and 
hundreds  of  thousands,  as  he  undoubtedly  did, 
yet,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  the  perpetual 
volley  of  "  you  uns  "  and  "  we  uns  "  must  carry 
the  day.  They  belonged  to  the  time,  and  the 
climate  suited  them.  By  degrees  they  fitted 
themselves  to  Gerard  Petit;  they  carried  him 
from  the  mountains  of  South  Carolina  to  the 
mountains  of  North  Georgia,  and  there  they 
helped  him  to  build  a  mill  and  found  a  family. 
But  their  hospitality  did  not  end  there.  With 
the  new  mill  and  the  new  family,  they  gave  him 
a  new  name.  Gerard  Petit,  presumably  with 
his  hand  upon  his  heart,  as  became  his  race, 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  41 

made  one  last  low  bow  to  genealogy.  In  his 
place  stood  Jerd  Poteet,  "  you  uns  "  to  the  left 
of  him,  "we  uns"  to  the  right  of  him.  He 
made  such  protest  as  he  might.  He  brought  his 
patriotism  to  bear  upon  the  emergency,  and 
named  his  eldest  son  Huguenin  Petit.  How 
long  this  contest  between  hospitality  on  the  one 
hand  and  family  pride  and  patriotism  on  the 
other  was  kept  up,  it  is  unnecessary  to  inquire. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  Huguenin  of  one 
generation  left  Hugue  Poteet  as  his  son  and 
heir;  Hugue  left  Hague,  and  this  Hague,  or  a 
succeeding  one,  by  some  mysterious  develop- 
ment of  fate,  left  Teague  Poteet. 

Meanwhile  the  restless  stream  of  English- 
Pennsylvania-Georgians,  with  its  "  you  uns  "  and 
its  "  we  uns,"  trickled  over  into  Alabama,  where 
some  of  the  Petits  who  were  carried  with  it 
became  Pettys  and  Pettises.  The  Georgia  settle- 
ments, however,  had  been  reinforced  by  Virgin- 
ians, South  Carolinians,  and  Georgians.  The 
gold  excitement  brought  some  ;  while  others,  set 
adrift  by  the  exigencies  of  the  plantation  system, 


42  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

found  it  easier  and  cheaper  to  get  to  North 
Georgia  than  to  reach  Louisiana  or  Mississippi. 
Thus,  in  1859,  Teague  Poteet,  a  young  man  of 
thirty  or  thereabouts,  was  tilling,  in  a  half- 
serious,  half-jocular  way,  a  small  farm  on  Hog 
Mountain,  in  full  view  of  Gullettsville.  That  is 
to  say,  Poteet  could  see  the  whole  of  Gulletts- 
ville, but  Gullettsville  could  not,  by  any  means, 
see  the  whole,  nor  even  the  half,  of  Poteet's 
fifty-acre  farm.  Gullettsville  could  see  what 
appeared  to  be  a  gray  notch  on  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  from  which  a  thin  stream  of  blue 
smoke  flowed  upward  and  melted  into  the  blue 
of  the  sky,  and  this  was  about  all  that  could  be 
seen.  Gullettsville  had  the  advantage  in  this, 
that  it  was  the  county-seat.  A  country  road, 
straggling  in  from  the  woods,  straggled  around 
a  bamlike  structure  called  the  court-house,  and 
then  straggled  off  to  some  other  remote  and 
lonely  settlement. 

Upon  rare  occasions  Teague  made  his  appear- 
ance on  this  straggling  street,  and  bought  his 
dram  and  paid  his  thrip  for  it ;  but,  in  a  general 


AT  TEAGUE  PO TEST'S.  43 

way,  if  Gullettsville  wanted  to  see  him,  it  had  to 
search  elsewhere  than  on  the  straggling  street. 
By  knocking  the  sheriff  of  the  county  over  the 
head  with  a  chair,  and  putting  a  bullet  through  . 
a  saloon-keeper  who  bullied  everybody,  Poieei^^ 
won  the  reputation  of  being  a  man  of  marked 
shrewdness  and  common-sense,  and  Gullettsville 
was  proud  of  him,  in  a  measure.  But  he  never 
liked  Gullettsville.  He  wore  a  wool  hat,  a 
homespun  shirt,  jeans  pantaloons,  and  cotton 
suspenders,  and  he  never  could  bring  himself 
into  thorough  harmony  with  the  young  men  who 
wore  ready-made  clothes,  starched  shirts,  and 
beaver  hats ;  nor  was  his  ideal  of  feminine 
beauty  reached  by  the  village  belles,  with  their 
roach-combs,  their  red  and  yellow  ribbons,  and 
their  enormous  flounces.  In  the  mountains,  he 
was  to  the  manner  born  ;  in  the  village,  he  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  presence  and  pressure  of  the 
exclusiveness  that  is  the  basis  of  all  society, 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent;  and  it  stirred  his 
venom.  His  revolt  was  less  pronounced  and 
Jess  important  than  that  of  his  ancestors ;  but 


44  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

it  was  a  revolt.  Gerard  Petit  left  France,  and 
Teague  Poteet  remained  away  from  Gullettsville. 
Otherwise  there  was  scarcely  a  trace  of  his  lin- 
eage about  him,  and  it  is  a  question  whether  he 
inherited  this  trait  from  France  or  from  the 
Euphrates,  —  from  Gerard  or  from  Adam. 

But  he  did  not  become  a  hermit  by  any  means. 
The  young  men  of  Gullettsville  made  Sunday 
excursions  to  his  farm,  and  he  was  pleased  to 
treat  them  with  great  deference.  Moreover,  he 
began  to  go  upon  little  journeys  of  his  own 
across  Sugar  Valley.  He  made  no  mystery  of 
his  intentions ;  but  one  day  there  was  consider- 
able astonishment  when  he  rode  into  Gulletts- 
ville on  horseback,  with  Puss  Pringle  behind 
him,  and  informed  the  proper  authorities  of  his 
desire  to  make  her  Mrs.  Puss  Poteet.  Miss 
Pringle  was  not  a  handsome  woman,  but  she 
was  a  fair  representative  of  that  portion  of  the 
race  that  has  poisoned  whole  generations  by 
improving  the  frying-pan  and  perpetuating 
"  fatty  bread."  The  impression  she  made  upon 
those  who  saw  her  for  the  first  time  was  one 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  45 

of  lank  flatness,  —  to  convey  a  vivid  idea  rather 
clumsily.  But  she  was  neither  lank  nor  flat. 
The  total  absence  of  all  attempts  at  artificial 
ornamentation  gave  the  future  Mrs.  Poteet  an 
appearance  of  forlorn  shiftlessness  that  was  not 
even  slightly  justified  by  the  facts.  She  was  a 
woman  past  the  heyday  of  youth,  but  of  con- 
siderable energy,  and  possessed  of  keen  powers 
of  observation.  Whatever  was  feminine  about 
her  was  of  that  plaintive  variety  that  may  be 
depended  upon  to  tell  the  story  of  whole  gen- 
erations of  narrow,  toilsome,  and  unprofitable 
lives. 

There  was  one  incident  connected  with  Miss 
Pringle's  antenuptial  ride  that  rather  intensified 
the  contempt  which  the  Mountain  entertained 
for  the  Valley.  As  she  jogged  down  the  street, 
clinging  confidently,  if  not  comfortably,  to 
Teague  Poteet's  suspenders,  two  young  ladies  of 
Gullettsville  chanced  to  be  passing  along.  They 
walked  slowly,  their  arms  twined  about  each 
other's  waists.  They  wore  white  muslin  dresses, 
and  straw  hats  with  wide  and  jaunty  brims,  and 


46  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

the  loose  ends  of  gay  ribbons  fluttered  about 
them.  These  young  ladies,  fresh  from  school, 
and  no  doubt  full  of  vainglory,  greeted  the 
bridal  procession  with  a  little  explosion  of  gig- 
gles, and  when  Puss  Pringle  pushed  back  her 
gingham  sun-bonnet  and  innocently  gazed  upon 
them,  they  turned  up  their  noses,  sniffed  the  air 
scornfully,  and  made  such  demonstrations  as 
no  feminine  mind,  however  ignorant  in  other 
directions,  could  fail  to  interpret. 

Miss  Pringle  had  not  learned  the  art  of  toss- 
ing her  head  and  sniffing  the  air,  but  she  half 
closed  her  eyes,  and  gave  the  young  ladies  a 
look  that  meant  something  more  than  scorn. 
She  said  nothing  to  Teague,  for  she  was  in 
hopes  he  had  not  observed  the  tantrums  of  the 
school-girls. 

But  Teague  saw  the  whole  affair,  and  he  was 
cut  to  the  quick.  In  addition  to  the  latent  pride 
of  his  class,  he  inherited  the  sensitiveness  of 
his  ancestors;  but  he  made  no  demonstration. 
Turning  his  eyes  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  he  jogged  along  to  the  wedding.  He  car- 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  47 

ried  his  wife  home,  and  thereafter  avoided  Gul- 
lettsville.  When  he  was  compelled  to  buy  coffee 
and  sugar,  or  other  necessary  luxuries,  he  rode 
forty  miles  across  the  mountain  to  Villa  Ray. 

He  had  been  married  a  year  or  more  when, 
one  afternoon,  he  was  compelled  to  ride  down 
to  Gullettsville  under  whip  and  spur  for  a  doc- 
tor.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  confused  activity 
in  the  town.  Old  men  and  young  boys  were 
stirring  around  with  blue  cockades  in  their  hats, 
and  the  women  wore  blue  rosettes  on  their 
bosoms.  Three  negroes  in  uniform  —  a  contri- 
bution from  the  nearest  railroad  town  —  were 
parading  up  and  down  the  straggling  street  with 
fife  and  drums,  and  a  number  of  men  were 
planting  a  flag-pole  in  front  of  the  court-house. 

No  conscientious  historian  can  afford  to  ig- 
nore a  coincidence,  and  it  so  happened  that  upon 
the  very  day  that  Teague  Poteet's  wife  pre- 
sented him  with  the  puzzle  of  a  daughter,  Fate 
presented  his  countrymen  with  the  problem  of 
war.  That  night,  sitting  in  the  door  of  his 
house  and  smoking  his  pipe,  Teague  witnessed 


48  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET1  S. 

other  developments  of  the  coincidence.  In  the 
next  room  the  baby-girl  squalled  most  persis- 
tently ;  down  in  the  Valley  the  premonitions  of 
war  made  themselves  heard  through  the  narrow 
throat  of  a  small  cannon  which,  until  then,  had 
been  used  only  to  celebrate  the  Fourth  of  July. 

The  noise  of  a  horse's  hoofs  roused  Teague's 
hounds,  and  some  one  called  out  from  the  road : 

«  Hello,  Poteet ! " 

"  Ah-yi ! " 

"  You  hearn  the  racket  ? " 

"  My  gal-baby  keeps  up  sich  a  hollerin'  I  can't 
hear  my  own  years." 

"  Oh!" 

"  You  better  b'lieve !  Nine  hours  ole,  an' 
mighty  peart.  What 's  them  Restercrats  in  the 
Valley  cuttin'  up  the'r  scollops  fer?" 

"Whoopin'  up  sesaysion.  Sou'  Ca'liny  done 
plum  gone  out,  an'  Georgy  a-gwine." 

Teague  Poteet  blew  a  long,  thin  cloud  of 
home-made  tobacco-smoke  heavenward,  leaned 
back  heavily  in  his  chair,  and  replied, — 

"Them  air   Restercrats  kin  go  wher'   they 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  49 

dang  please ;  I  'm  a-gwine  to  stay  right  slam- 
bang  in  the  Nunited  States." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  as  if  the  man  on 
horseback  was  considering  the  matter.  Then 
the  response  came, — 

"Here's  at  you!" 

"  Can't  you  'light  ?"  asked  Poteet. 

"Not  now,"  said  the  other;  "I'll  git  on 
furder." 

The  man  on  horseback  rode  on  across  the 
mountain  to  his  home.  Another  mountaineer, 
seeing  the  rockets  and  hearing  the  sound  of  the 
cannon,  came  down  to  Poteet's  for  information. 
He  leaned  over  the  brush-fence. 

"What 'sup,  Teague?" 

"  Gal-baby  ;  reg'lar  surbinder." 

"  Shoo  !  won't  my  ole  'oman  holler !  What 's 
up  down  yan?" 

"Them  dad-blasted  Restercrats  a-secedin' 
out'n  the  Nunited  States." 

"  They  say  they  er  airter  savin'  of  the'r  nig- 
gers," said  the  man  at  the  fence. 

"Well,  I  hain't  got   none,   and  I  hain't   a- 


50  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

wantin'  none ;  an'  it  hain't  been  ten  minnits 
sense  I  ups  an'  says  to  Dave  Hightower,  s'  I, 
*  The  Nunited  States  is  big  enough  for  me.' " 

"  Now  you  er  makin'  the  bark  fly,"  said  the 
man  at  the  fence. 

During  the  night  other  men  came  down  the 
mountain  as  far  as  Poteet's,  and  always  with 
the  same  result. 

The  night  broadened  into  day,  and  other  days 
and  nights  followed.  In  the  Valley  the  people 
had  their  problem  of  war,  and  on  the  Mountain 
Teague  Poteet  had  the  puzzle  of  his  daughter. 
One  was  full  of  doubt  and  terror  and  death, 
and  the  other  full  of  the  pleasures  of  peace. 
As  the  tide  of  war  surged  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  the  demand  for  recruits  became  clamorous, 
the  people  of  the  Valley  bethought  them  of  the 
gaunt  but  sturdy  men  who  lived  on  the  Moun- 
tain. A  conscript  officer,  representing  the  ne- 
cessities of  a  new  government,  made  a  journey 
thither,  —  a  little  excursion  full  of  authority  and 
consequence.  As  he  failed  to  return,  another 
officer,  similarly  equipped  and  commissioned, 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  51 

rode  forth  and  disappeared,  and  then  another 
and  another  ;  and  it  was  not  until  a  little  search 
expedition  had  been  fitted  out  that  the  Confed- 
•erates  discovered  that  the  fastnesses  of  Hog 
Mountain  concealed  a  strong  and  dangerous 
organization  of  Union  men.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  indignation  in  the  Valley  when  this  state 
of  affairs  became  known,  and  there  was  some 
talk  of  organizing  a  force  for  the  purpose  of 
driving  the  mountaineers  away  from  their  homes. 
But  somehow  the  Valley  never  made  up  its 
mind  to  attack  the  Mountain,  and,  upon  such 
comfortable  terms  as  these,  the  Mountain  was 
very  glad  to  let  the  Valley  alone. 

After  awhile  the  Valley  had  larger  troubles 
to  contend  with.  Gullettsville  became  in  some 
measure  a  strategic  point,  and  the  left  wing  of 
one  army  and  the  right  wing  of  the  other  ma- 
noeuvred for  possession.  The  left  wing  finally 
gave  way,  and  the  right  wing  marched  in  and 
camped  round  about,  introducing  to  the  dis- 
tracted inhabitants  General  Tecumseh  Sherman 
and  some  of  his  lieutenants.  The  right  wing 


52  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

had  learned  that  a  number  of  Union  men  were 
concealed  on  the  mountain,  and  one  or  two  little 
excursion  parties  were  made  up  for  the  purpose 
of  forming  their  acquaintance.  These  excur* 
sions  were  successful  to  this  extent,  that  some 
of  the  members  thereof  returned  to  the  friendly 
shelter  of  the  right  wing  with  bullet-holes  in 
them,  justly  feeling  that  they  had  been  outraged. 
The  truth  is,  the  Poteets  and  the  Pringles  and 
the  Hightowers  of  Hog  Mountain  had  their  own 
notions  of  what  constituted  Union  men.  They 
desired  to  stay  in  the  United  States  on  their  own 
terms.  If  nobody  pestered  them,  they  pestered 
nobody. 

Meanwhile  Teague  Poteef  s  baby  had  grown 
to  be  a  thumping  girl,  and  hardly  a  day  passed 
that  she  did  not  accompany  her  father  in  his 
excursions.  When  the  contending  armies  came 
in  sight,  Teague  and  his  comrades  spent  a  good 
deal  of  their  time  in  watching  them.  Each 
force  passed  around  an  elbow  of  the  mountain, 
covering  a  distance  of  nearly  sixty  miles,  and 
thus  for  days  and  weeks  this  portentous  pano- 


AT  TEAGUE  PO TEST'S.  53 

rama  was  spread  out  before  these  silent  watchers. 
Surely  never  before  did  a  little  girl  have  two 
armies  for  her  playthings.  The  child  saw  the 
movements  of  the  soldiers,  the  glitter  of  the 
array,  and  the  waving  of  the  banners ;  she  heard 
the  dull  thunder  of  the  cannon,  and  the  sharp 
rattle  of  the  musketry.  When  the  sun  went 
down,  and  the  camp-fires  shone  out,  it  seemed 
that  ten  thousand  stars  had  fallen  at  her  feet, 
and  sometimes  sweet  strains  of  music  stole  up- 
ward on  the  wings  of  the  night,  and  slipped 
heavenward  through  the  sighing  pines. 

The  gray  columns  swung  right  and  left,  and 
slowly  fell  back ;  the  blue  columns  swayed  right 
and  left,  and  slowly  pressed  forward,  —  some- 
times beneath  clouds  of  sulphurous  smoke,  some- 
times beneath  heavy  mists  of  rain,  sometimes  in 
the  bright  sunshine.  They  swung  and  swayed 
slowly  out  of  sight,  and  Hog  Mountain  and  Gul- 
lettsville  were  left  at  peace. 

The  child  grew  and  thrived.  In  the  midst  of 
a  gaunt  and  sallow  geueratipnj_she  shone  radi- 
antly beautiful.  In  some  mysterious  way  she 


54:  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

inherited  the  beauty  and  grace  and  refinement 
of  a  Frenchwoman.  Merely  as  a  phenomenon, 
she  ought  to  have  reminded  Teague  of  his  name 
and  lineage ;  but  Teague  had  other  matters  to 
think  of.  "  Sis  hain't  no  dirt-eater,"  he  used  to 
say ;  and  to  this  extent  only  would  he  commit 
himself,  his  surroundings  having  developed  in 
him  that  curious  excess  of  caution  andjgafirve 
which  characterizes  his  class. 

As  for  Puss  Poteet,  she  sat  and  rocked  herself 
and  rubbed  snuff,  and  regarded  her  daughter  as 
one  of  the  profound  mysteries.  She  was  in  a 
state  of  perpetual  bewilderment  and  surprise, 
equalled  only  by  her  apparent  indifference.  She 
allowed  herself  to  be  hustled  around  by  Sis 
without  serious  protest,  and  submitted,  as  Teague 
did,  to  the  new  order  of  things  as  quietly  as 
possible. 

Meanwhile  the  people  in  the  Valley  were 
engaged  in  adjusting  themselves  to  the  changed 
condition  of  affairs.  The  war  was  over,  but  it 
had  left  some  deep  scars  here  and  there,  and 
those  who  had  engaged  in  it  gave  their  attention 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  55 

to  healing  these,  —  a  troublesome  and  intermi- 
nable task,  be  it  said,  which  by  no  means  kept 
pace  with  the  impatience  of  the  victors,  whipped 
into  fury  by  the  subtle  but  ignoble  art  of  the 
politician.  There  was  no  lack  of  despair  in  the 
Valley,  but  out  of  it  all  prosperity  grew,  and 
the  promise  of  a  most  remarkable  future.  Be- 
hind the  confusion  of  politics,  of  one  sort  and 
another,  the  spirit  of  Progress  rose  and  shoolT 
her  ambitious  wings. 

Something  of  all  this  must  have  made  itself 
felt  on  the  Mountain,  for  one  day  Teague  Poteet 
pushed  his  wide-brimmed  wool  hat  from  over  his 
eyes  with  an  air  of  astonishment.  Puss  had 
just  touched  upon  a  very  important  matter. 

"  I  reckon  in  reason,"  she  said,  "  we  oughter 
pack  Sis  off  to  school  some'rs.  She'll  thes 
nat'ally  spile  here." 

"  Hain't  you  larnt  her  how  to  read  an'  write 
an'  cipher  ?  "  asked  Teague. 

"  I  started  in,"  said  Mrs.  Poteet,  "  but,  Lord  ! 
I  hain't  more  'n  opened  a  book  tell  she  know'd 
more  'n  I  dast  to  know  ef  I  wuz  gwine  to  die 


56  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S, 

fer  it.     Hit '11  take  somebody  lots  smarter  V 
stronger 'n  me." 

Teague  laughed,  and  then  relapsed  into  seri- 
ousness. After  awhile  he  called  Sis.  The  girl 
came  running  in,  her  dark  eyes  flashing,  her 
black  hair  bewitchingly  tangled,  and  her  cheeks 
Hushing  with  a  color  hitherto  unknown  to  the 
Mountain. 

"What  now,  pap?" 

"  I  wuz  thes  a-thinkin'  ef  maybe  you  ought  n't 
to  bresh  up  an'  start  to  school  down  in  Gulletts- 
ville." 

"  Oh,  pap ! "  the  girl  exclaimed,  clapping  her 
hands  with  delight.  She  was  about  to  spring 
upon  Teague  and  give  him  a  severe  hugging, 
when  suddenly  her  arms  dropped  to  her  side, 
the  flush  died  out  of  her  face,  and  she  flopped 
herself  down  upon  a  chair.  Teague  paid  no 
attention  to  this. 

"  Yes,  siree,"  he  continued,  as  if  pursuing  a 
well-developed  line  of  argument ;  "  when  a  gal 
gits  ez  big  ez  you  is,  she  hain't  got  no  busi- 
ness to  be  a-gwine  a-whoopin'  an'  a-hollerir*  vi' 


AT  TEAGL'E  POTEETS. 

a-rantin'  an'  a-rompin'  aerost  the  face  er  theyeth. 
The  tune's  done  come  when  they  oughter  be 
tuck  np  an'  made  a  lady  out 'n ;  an'  the  nigh- 
eet  way  is  to  sea'  'em  to  schooL  That's 
whar  youera-gwine,  — down  to  Gulletteville  to 


I  sha'n't,  an'  I  won't,  — I  won't,  I  won't,  1 
fyy«*J*»™«i  Sis,  clenching  her  l»«»wi«  ^iul 
stamping  her  feet.  u  I  Tl  die  first" 

Teague  had  never  seen  her  so  excited. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Sis?"  he  asked, 
Wnzi.  ^nypjjyiMii^  oooocni* 

Ss  gave  him  a  withering  look. 

"Pap,  do  you  reckon  I'm  fool  enough  to 
traipse  down  to  GuUettsvflle  an'  mix  with  them 
people,  wearin'  cloze  like  these  ?  Do  you  reckon 
I  'm  fool  enough  to  make  myself  the  laughin'- 
stock  for  them  folks?" 

Teagne  Poteet  was  not  a  learned  man,  but  he 
was  shrewd  enough  to  see  that  the  Mountain 
had  a  new  problem  to  solve.  He  took  down  his 
rifle,  whistled  up  his  dogs,  and  tramped  sky- 
ward. As  he  passed  out  through  his  horse-lot, 


58  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

the  cap  and  worm  of  a  whiskey-still  lying  in  the 
corner  of  the  fence  attracted  his  attention.  He 
paused  and  turned  the  apparatus  over  with  his 
foot.  It  was  old  and  somewhat  battered. 

"I'll  thes  about  take  you,"  said  Teague,  with 
a  chuckle,  "an'  set  up  a  calico-factory.  I'll 
heat  you  up  an'  make  you  spin  silk  an'  split  it 
into  ribbens." 

It  was  a  case  of  civilization  or  no  civilization  ; 
and  there  is  nothing  more  notorious  in  history, 
nothing  more  mysterious,  tnan  tne  fact  that 
civilization  is  not  over-nice  in  the  choice  of  her 
handmaidens.  One  day  it  is  war,  another  it 
is  slavery.  Every  step  in  the  advancement  of 
the  human  race  has  a  paradox  of  some  kind  as 
a  basis.  In  the  case  of  Sis  Poteet,  it  was 
whiskey. 

Teague  got  his  still  together,  and  planted  it  in 
a  nice  cool  place,  where  it  could  be  reached  only 
by  a  narrow  foot-path.  He  had  set  up  a  still 
immediately  after  the  war,  but  it  had  been 
promptly  broken  up  by  the  revenue  officers. 
Upon  this  occasion,  therefore,  he  made  elaborate 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  59 

preparations  to  guard  against  surprise  and  de- 
tection, and  these  preparations  bore  considerable 
fruit  in  the  way  of  illicit  whiskey  ;  the  ultimate 
result  of  which  was  that  Sis  went  to  school  in 
Gullettsville,  and  became  the  belle  of  the  town. 

It  came  to  pass  that  the  breath  of  the  Moun- 
tain was  heavily  charged  with  whiskey,  and 
the  Government  got  a  whiff  of  it.  Word  went 
to  "Washington,  and  there  was  much  writing 
and  consulting  by  mail,  and  some  telegraphing. 
The  officials  —  marshal,  deputy  marshals,  and 
collector  —  were  mostly  men  from  a  distance, 
brought  hither  on  the  tide  of  war,  who  had  no 
personal  interest  in  judging  the  situation.  Nat- 
urally enough,  the  power  with  which  they  were 
invested  was  neither  discreetly  nor  sympatheti- 
cally exercised.  They  represented  the  Govern- 
ment, which  they  were  taught  to  believe  by~lhe 
small  men  above  them  was  still  at  war  with 
every  condition  and  belief  in  Georgia. 

Down  in  the  Valley  they  domineered  with 
impunity  ;  and  one  fine  morning  a  posse,  armed 
with  carbines,  rode  up  the  Mountain,  laughing, 


60  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

talking,  and  rattling  their  gear  as  gayly  as  a 
detachment  of  cuirassiers  parading  under  the 
protection  of  friendly  guns.  The  Mountain  was 
inhospitable ;  for  when  they  rode  down  again,  a 
few  hours  afterward,  three  saddles  were  empty, 
and  the  survivors  had  a  terrible  story  to  tell  of 
an  attack  from  an  unseen  foe. 

By  the  time  the  story  of  this  fight  with  the 
illicit  distillers  reached  Washington,  the  details 
were  considerably  magnified.  The  Commis- 
sioner was  informed  by  the  Marshal  that  a  detail 
of  deputy  marshals  had  attempted  to  seize  a  still 
and  were  driven  back  by  an  overpowering  force. 
The  correspondents  at  the  Capital  still  further 
enlarged  the  details,  and  the  affair  finally  went 
into  history  as  "  A  New  Phase  of  the  Rebellion." 
This  was  the  natural  outgrowth  of  the  confusion 
of  that  period ;  for  how  should  the  careless 
deputy  marshals,  thinking  only  of  the  section- 
alism that  lit  up  the  smouldering  £uins  of  war, 
know  that  the  Moonshiners  were  Union  men 

L ___ . 

.  and  Republicans  ? 

While  the  Government  was  endeavoring  to 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  61 

invent  some  plan  for  the  capture  of  the  Moon- 
shiners, Sis  Poteet  was  growing  lovelier  every 
day.  She  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  teachers 
of  the  academy  and  with  everybody.  As  a  gen- 
eral thing  she  avoided  the  public  square  when 
riding  to  and  from  the  school ;  but  it  was  hats 
off  with  all  the  men  when  she  did  go  clattering 
down  the  street,  and  some  of  the  romantic  dry- 
goods  clerks  sent  their  sighs  after  her.  Sighs 
are  frequently  very  effective  with  school-girls, 
but  those  that  followed  Sis  Poteet  fell  short  and 
were  wasted  on  the  air ;  and  she  continued  to 
ride  from  the  Mountain  to  the  Valley  and  from 
the  Valley  to  the  Mountain  in  profound  igno- 
rance of  the  daily  sensation  she  created  among 
the  young  men  of  Gullettsville,  to  whom  her 
fine  figure,  her  graceful  ways,  and  her  thrillingly 
beautiful  face  were  the  various  manifestations  of 
a  wonderful  revelation. 

Naturally  enough,  the  Government  took  no 
account  of  Sis  Poteet.  The  Commissioner  at 
Washington  conferred  with  the  Marshal  for 
Georgia  by  mail,  and  begged  him  to  exert  him- 


62  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

self  to  the  utmost  to  break  up  the  business  of 
illicit  distilling  in  the  Hog  Mountain  Range.  In 
view  of  an  important  election  about  to  be  held  in 
some  doubtful  State  in  the  North  or  West,  the 
worthy  Commissioner  at  Washington  even  sug- 
gested the  propriety  of  another  armed  raid,  to 
be  made  up  of  deputy  marshals  and  a  detach- 
ment of  men  from  the  Atlanta  garrison.  But 
the  Marshal  for  Georgia  did  not  fall  in  with  this 
suggestion.  He  was  of  the  opinion  that  if  a  raid 
was  to  be  made  at  all  it  should  not  be  made 
blindly,  and  he  fortified  his  opinion  with  such  an 
array  of  facts  and  arguments  that  the  Bureau 
finally  left  the  whole  matter  to  his  discretion. 

Early  one  morning,  in  the  summer  of  1879,  a 
stranger  on  horseback  rode  up  the  straggling 
red  road  that  formed  the  principal  business 
thoroughfare  of  Gullettsville,  and  made  his  way 
toward  the  establishment  known  as  the  Gulletts- 
ville Hotel.  The  chief  advertisement  of  the 
hotel  was  the  lack  of  one.  A  tall,  worm-eaten 
post  stood  in  front  of  the  building,  but  the  frame 
in  which  the  sign  had  swung  was  empty.  This 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  63 

post,  with  its  empty  frame,  was  as  significant  as 
the  art  of  blazonry  could  have  made  it.  At  any 
rate,  the  stranger  on  horseback — a  young  man 
—  pressed  forward  without  hesitation.  The 
proprietor  himself,  Squire  Lemuel  Pleasants, 
was  standing  upon  the  low  piazza  as  the  young 
man  rode  up.  The  squire  wore  neither  coat  nor 
hat.  His  thumbs  were  caught  behind  his  sus- 
penders, giving  him  an  air  of  ease  or  of  defiance, 
as  one  might  choose  to  interpret,  and  his  jaws 
were  engaged  in  mashing  into  shape  the  first 
quid  of  the  morning. 

As  the  young  man  reined  up  his  horse  at  the 
door,  Squire  Pleasants  stepped  briskly  inside 
and  pulled  a  string  which  communicated  with  a 
bell  somewhere  in  the  back  yard. 

"This  is  the  Gullettsville  Hotel,  is  it  not?" 
the  young  man  asked. 

"Well,  sir,"  responded  the  squire,  rubbing 
his  hands  together,  "  sence  you  push  me  so 
clost,  I  '11  not  deny  that  this  here 's  the  tavern. 
Some  calls  it  the  hotel,  some  calls  it  the  Pleas- 
ants House,  some  one  tiling,  an'  some  another ; 


64  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

but  as  for  me,  I  says  to  all,  says  I, '  Boys,  it 's  a 
plain  tavern.'  In  Fergeenia,  sir,  in  my  young 
days,  they  wa'  n't  nothin'  better  than  a  tavern. 
'Light,  sir,  'light,"  continued  the  hospitable 
squire,  as  a  tow-headed  stable-boy  tumbled  out 
at  the  door  in  response  to  the  bell ;  "  drap  right 
down  an'  come  in." 

The  young  man  followed  the  landlord  into  a 
bare  little  office,  where  he  was  given  to  under- 
stand in  plain  terms  that  people  who  stopped 
with  Squire  Pleasants  were  expected  to  make 
themselves  completely  at  home.  With  a  pen 
upon  which  the  ink  had  been  dry  for  many  a 
day  the  young  man  inscribed  his  name  on  a 
thin  and  dirty  register,  —  "Philip  Woodward, 
Clinton,  Georgia;"  whereupon  the  squire,  with 
unnecessary  and  laborious  formality,  assigned 
Mr.  Woodward  to  a  room. 

Judging  from  appearance,  the  United  States 
Marshal  for  Georgia  had  not  gone  astray  in 
selecting  Woodward  to  carry  out  the  delicate 
mission  of  arranging  for  a  successful  raid  upon 
Hog  Mountain.  Lacking  any  distinguishing 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  65 

trait  of  refinement  or  culture,  his  composure 
suggested  the  possession  of  that  necessary  in- 
formation which  is  the  result  of  contact  with 
the  world  and  its  inhabitants.  He  had  that 
large  air  of  ease  and  tranquillity  which  is  born 
of  association,  and  which  represents  one  of  the 
prime  elements  of  the  curious  quality  we  call 
personal  magnetism.  He  was  ready-witted,  and 
full  of  the  spirit  of  adventure.  He  was  the 
owner  of  the  title  to  a  land-lot  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Hog  Mountain,  and  this  land- 
lot  was  all  that  remained  of  an  inheritance  that 
had  been  swept  away  by  the  war.  There  was  a 
tradition  —  perhaps  only  a  rumor  —  among  the 
Woodwards  that  the  Hog  Mountain  land-lot 
covered  a  vein  of  gold ;  and  to  investigate  this 
was  a  part  of  the  young  man's  business  in 
Gullettsville,  entirely  subordinate,  however,  to 
his  desire  to  earn  the  salary  attached  to  his 
position. 

The  presence  of  a  stranger  at  the  hospitable 
tavern  of  Squire  Pleasants  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  old  and  young  men  of  leisure,  and 


66  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

the  most  of  them  gathered  upon  the  long,  nar- 
row piazza  to  discuss  the  matter.  Uncle  Jimmy 
Wright,  the  sage  of  the  village,  had  inspected 
the  name  in  the  register  and  approved  of  it. 
He  had  heard  of  it  before,  and  he  proceeded  to 
give  a  long  and  rambling  account  of  whole 
generations  of  Woodwards.  Jake  Cohen,  a  ped- 
ler,  who  with  marvellous  tact  had  fitted  him- 
self to  the  conditions  of  life  and  society  in  the 
mountains,  and  who  was  supposed  to  have  some 
sort  of  connection  with  the  traffic  in  "  blockade  " 
whiskey,  gave  some  reminiscences  of  a  family  of 
Woodwards  in  Ohio.  Tip  Watson,  who  had  a 
large  local  reputation  for  humor,  gravely  in- 
quired of  Squire  Pleasants  if  the  new-comer  had 
left  any  message  for  him. 

Doubtless  the  squire,  or  some  one  else,  would 
have  attempted  a  facetious  reply  to  Mr.  Watson ; 
but  just  then  a  tall,  gaunt,  gray-haired,  grizzly- 
bearded  man  stepped  upon  the  piazza,  and 
saluted  the  little  gathering  with  an  awkward 
wave  of  the  hand.  The  not  unkindly  expres- 
sion of  his  face  was  curiously  heightened  (or 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  67 

deepened)  by  the  alertness  of  his  eyes,  which 
had  the  quizzical  restlessness  we  sometimes  see 
in  the  eyes  of  birds  or  animals.  It  was  Teague 
Poteet,  and  the  greetings  he  received  were  of 
the  most  effusive  character. 

"  Howdy,  boys,  howdy  !  "  he  said,  in  response 
to  the  chorus.  "  They  hain't  airy  one  er  you 
gents  kin  split  up  a  twenty-dollar  chunk  er 
greenbacks,  is  they  ? " 

Tip  Watson  made  a  pretence  of  falling  in  a 
chair  and  fainting;  but  he  immediately  recov- 
ered, and  said  in  a  sepulchral  whisper, — 

"  Ef  you  find  anybody  dead,  an'  they  ain't 
got  no  twenty-dollar  bill  on  their  person,  don't 
come  a-knockin'  at  my  door.  Lord!"  he  con- 
tinued, "look  at  Cohen's  upper  lip  a-trimblin'. 
He  wants  to  take  that  bill  out  somewheres  an' 
hang  it  on  a  clothes-line." 

"  Ow !  "  exclaimed  Cohen,  "  yoost  lizzen  at 
date  man !  Date  Teep  Vatsen,  he  so  foony  as 
allt  tern  utter  peoples  put  tergetter.  Vait, 
Teague,  vait!  I  chanche  date  pill  right  avay, 
terreckerly." 


68  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

But  Teague  was  absorbed  in  some  informa- 
tion which  Squire  Pleasants  was  giving  him. 

"  He  don't  favor  the  gang,"  the  squire  was 
saying,  with  emphasis,  "  an'  I  '11  be  boun'  he 
ain't  much  mixed  up  wi'  'em.  He 's  another 
cut.  Oh,  they  ain't  a-foolin'  me  this  season  of 
the  year,"  he  continued,  as  Teague  Poteet  shook 
his  head  doubtfully ;  "  he  ain't  mustered  out'n 
my  mind  yit,  not  by  a  dad-blamed  sight.  I  'm 
jest  a-tellin'  of  you ;  he  looks  spry,  an'  he  ain't 
no  sneak,  —  I  '11  swar  to  that  on  the  stan'." 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,  square,"  responded  Teague, 
dryly,  "  I  hain't  never  seed  people  too  purty  to 
pester  yuther  folks;  an'  I  reckon  you  ain't 
nuther,  is  you  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Squire  Pleasants,  his  experience 
appealed  to  instead  of  his  judgment;  "no,  I 
ain't,  that 's  a  fact ;  but  some  folks  youer  bleege 
to  take  on  trus'." 

Further  comment  on  the  part  of  Poteet  and 
the  others  was  arrested  by  the  appearance  of 
Woodward,  who  came  out  of  his  room,  walked 
rapidly  down  the  narrow  hall-way  and  out  upon 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  69 

the  piazza.  He  was  bareheaded,  his  hands  were 
full  of  papers,  and  he  had  the  air  of  a  man  of 
business.  The  younger  men  who  had  gathered 
around  Squire  Pleasants  and  Teague  Poteet  fell 
back  loungingly  as  Woodward  came  forward 
with  just  the  faintest  perplexed  smile. 

"  Judge  Pleasants,"  he  said,  "  I  'm  terribly 
mixed  up,  and  1  '11  have  to  ask  you  to  unmix  me." 

The  squire  cleared  his  throat,  adjusted  his 
spectacles,  and  straightened  himself  in  his  chair. 
The  title  of  Judge,  and  the  easy  air  of  deference 
with  which  it  was  bestowed,  gave  him  an  entirely 
new  idea  of  his  own  importance.  He  frowned 
judicially  as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  papers. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  gittin'  ole,  an'  I 
reckon  I  ain't  much,  nohow;  I'm  sorter  like 
the  gray  colt  that  tried  to  climb  in  the  shuck- 
pen,  —  I  'm  weak,  but  willin'.  Ef  you  '11  jest 
whirl  in  an'  make  indication  whar'in  I  can  he'p, 
I  '11  do  the  best  I  kin." 

"I've  come  up  here  to  look  after  a  lot  of 
land,"  said  Woodward.  "It  is  described  here 
as  lot  No.  18,  376th  district,  Georgia  Militia, 


70  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

part  of  land  lot  No.  11,  in  Tugaloo,  formerly 
Towaliga  County.  Here  is  a  plat  of  Hog 
Mountain,  but  somehow  I  can't  locate  the  lot." 

The  squire  took  the  papers  and  began  to  ex- 
amine them  with  painful  particularity. 

"That  'ar  lot,"  said  Teague  Poteet,  after 
awhile,  "is  the  ole  Mathis  lot.  The  line  runs 
right  across  my  simblin'  patch,  an'  backs  up 
ag'in'  my  hoss-stable." 

"  Tooby  shore,  —  tooby  shore  ! "  exclaimed  the 
squire.  "  Tut-tut !  What  am  I  doin'  ?  My 
mind  is  drappin'  loose  like  seed-ticks  from  a 
shumake  bush.  Tooby  shore,  it's  the  Mathis 
lot.  Mr.  Wooderd,  Mr.  Poteet  —  Mr.  Poteet,  Mr. 
Wooderd ;  lem  me  make  you  interduced,  gents." 

Mr.  Woodward  shook  hands  gracefully  and 
cordially, —  Poteet  awkwardly  and  a  trifle 
suspiciously. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Poteet,"  said  Wood- 
ward, "that  I  have  seen  your  name  in  the 
papers  somewhere." 

"Likely,"  replied  Poteet;  "they  UY  bin  a 
mighty  sight  er  printin'  gwine  on  sence  the  war, 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  71 

<30  I've  heern  tell.  Ef  you'd  a-drapped  in  at 
Atlanty,  you  mought  er  seed  my  name  mixt  up 
in  a  warrant." 

"How  is  that?"  Woodward  asked. 

"Bekaze  I  bin  a-bossin'  my  own  affa'rs." 

Poteet  had  straightened  himself  up,  and  he 
looked  at  Woodward  with  a  steadiness  which  the 
other  did  not  misunderstand.  It  was  a  look 
which  said,  "  If  you  've  got  that  warrant  in  your 
pocket,  it  won't  be  safe  to  pull  it  out  in  these 
diggin's." 

Squire  Pleasants  recognized  the  challenge 
that  made  itself  heard  in  Teague  Poteet's  voice. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  in  a  cheerful  tone,  "  our 
folks  is  seen  some  mighty  quare  doin's  sence 
the  war;  but  times  is  a-gittin'  a  long  ways 
better  now." 

"  Better,  hell ! "  exclaimed  Sid  Parmalee. 

What  he  would  have  said  further,  no  one  can 
know ;  for  the  voluminous  voice  of  Cohen  broke 
in, — 

"Tlook  ow-ut,  t'ere,  Sid!  tlook  ow-ut!  t'at 
pad  man  kedge  you!" 


72  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

This  remarkable  admonition  was  received 
with  a  shout  of  laughter.  Good  humor  was 
restored ;  and  it  was  increased  when  Woodward, 
shortly  afterward,  drinking  with  the  boys  at 
Nix's  saloon,  called  for  three  fingers  of  Moun- 
tain Dew,  and  washed  it  down  with  the  state- 
ment that  it  tasted  just  as  nice  as  liquor  that 
had  been  stamped  by  the  Government.  In  short, 
Woodward  displayed  such  tact  and  entered  with 
such  heartiness  into  the  spirit  of  the  people 
around  him  that  he  disarmed  the  trained  sus- 
picions of  a  naturally  suspicious  community. 
Perhaps  this  statement  should  be  qualified. 
Undoubtedly  the  marshal,  could  he  have  made 
a  personal  inspection  of  Woodward  and  his 
surroundings,  would  have  praised  his  subordi- 
nate's tact.  The  truth  is,  while  he  had  dis- 
armed their  suspicions,  he  had  faJLed~utterIy  to 
gain  their  confidence. 

With  a  general  as  well  as  a  particular  interest 
in  the  direction  of  Hog  Mountain,  it  was  natural 
that  Deputy  Marshal  Woodward  should  meet  or 
overtake  Miss  Poteet  as  she  rode  back  and  forth 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  73 

between  Gullettsville  and  the  gray  notch  in  the 
mountain  known  as  Poteet's.  It  was  natural, 
too,  that  he  should  take  advantage  of  the  social 
informalities  of  the  section  and  make  her  ac- 
quaintance. It  was  an  acquaintance  in  which 
Woodward  and,  presumably,  the  young  lady  her- 
self became  very  much  interested ;  so  that  the 
spectacle  of  this  attractive  couple  galloping  along 
together  over  the  red  road  that  connected  the 
Valley  with  the  Mountain  came  to  be  a  familiar 
one.  And  its  effect  upon  those  who  paused  to 
take  note  of  it  was  not  greatly  different  from 
the  effect  of  such  spectacles  in  other  sections. 
Some  looked  wise  and  shook  their  heads  sorrow- 
fully ;  some  smiled  and  looked  kindly,  and  sent 
all  manner  of  good  wishes  after  the  young  peo- 
ple. But  whether  they  galloped  down  the 
Mountain  in  the  fresh  hours  of  the  morning,  or 
ambled  up  its  dark  slope  in  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  neither  Woodward  nor  Sis  Poteet  gave 
a  thought  to  the  predictions  of  spite  or  to  the 
prophecies  of  friendliness. 

The  Mountain  girl  was  a  surprise  to  Wood- 


74  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

ward.  She  had  improved  her  few  opportunities 
to  the  utmost.  Such  information  as  the  Gulletts- 
ville  Academy  afforded  she  relished  and  ab- 
sorbed, so  that  her  education  was  thorough  as 
far  as  it  went.  Neither  her  conversation  nor 
her  manners  would  have  attracted  special  atten- 
tion in  a  company  of  fairly  bright  young  girls, 
but  she  formed  a  refreshing  contrast  to  the 
social  destitution  of  the  Mountain  region. 

Beyond  this,  her  personality  was  certainly 
more  attractive  than  that  of  most  women,  being 
based  upon  an  independence  which  knew  abso- 
lutely nothing  of  the  thousand  and  one  vexatious 
little  aspirations  that  are  essential  to  what  is 
[called  social  success.  Unlike  the  typical  Amer- 
lican  girl,  whose  sweetly  severe  portraits  smile 
'serenely  at  us  from  the  canvas  of  contemporary 
fiction,  Miss  Poteet  would  have  been  far  from 
al  to  the  task  of  meeting  all  the  requirements 
perfectly  organized  society;  but  she  could 
scarcely  have  been  placed  in  a  position  in  which 
her  natural  brightness  and  vivacity  would  not 
have  attracted  attention. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  75 

At  any  rate,  the  indefinable  charm  of  her 
presence,  her  piquancy,  and  her  beauty  was 
a  perpetual  challenge  to  the  admiration  of 
Deputy  Marshal  Woodward.  It  pursued  him 
in  his  dreams,  and  made  him  uncomfortable 
in  his  waking  hours ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that 
his  duties  as  a  revenue  officer,  perplexing  at 
best,  became  a  burden  to  him. 

In  point  of  fact,  this  lively  young  lady  was 
the  unforeseen  quantity  in  the  problem  which 
Woodward  had  been  employed  to  solve ;  and, 
between  his  relations  to  the  Government  and 
his  interest  in  Sis  Poteet,  he  found  himself  in- 
volved in  an  awkward  predicament.  Perhaps 
the  main  features  of  this  predicament,  baldly 
presented,  would  have  been  more  puzzling  to 
the  authorities  at  Washington  than  they  were 
to  Woodward ;  but  it  is  fair  to  the  young  man 
to  say  that  he  did  not  mistake  the  fact  that 
the  Moonshiner  had  a  daughter  for  an  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  illicit  distilling,  albeit  the 
temptation  to  do  so  gave  him  considerable 
anxiety. 


76  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

In  the  midst  of  his  perplexity,  Deputy  Mar- 
shal Woodward  concluded  that  it  would  be 
better  for  the  Government,  and  better  for  his 
own  peace  of  mind,  if  he  allowed  Sis  Poteet 
to  ride  home  without  an  escort;  and  for  sev- 
eral days  he  left  her  severely  alone,  while  he 
attended  to  his  duties,  as  became  a  young 
fellow  of  fair  business  habits. 

But  one  afternoon,  as  he  sat  on  the  piazza 
of  the  hotel  nursing  his  confusion  and  discon- 
tent, Sis  Poteet  rode  by.  It  was  a  tantalizing 
vision,  though  a  fleeting  one.  It  seemed  to  be 
merely  the  flash  of  a  red  feather,  the  wave  of 
a  white  hand,  to  which  Woodward  lifted  his 
hat ;  but  these  were  sufficient.  The  red  feather 
nodded  gayly  to  him,  the  white  hand  invited. 
His  horse  stood  near,  and  in  a  few  moments 
he  was  galloping  toward  the  Mountain  with 
the  Moonshiner's  daughter. 

When  the  night  fell  at  Teague  Poteet's  on 
this  particular  evening,  it  found  a  fiddle  going. 
The  boys  and  girls  of  the  Mountain,  to  the 
number  of  a  dozen  or  more,  had  gathered  for 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  77 

a  frolic,  —  a  frolic  that  shook  the  foundations 
of  Poteet's  castle,  and  aroused  echoes  familiar 
enough  to  the  good  souls  who  are  fond  of  the 
cotillon  in  its  primitive  shape.  The  old  folks 
who  had  accompanied  the  youngsters  sat  in 
the  kitchen  with  Teague  and  his  wife ;  and  here 
Woodward  also  sat,  listening  with  interest  to 
the  gossip  of  what  seemed  to  be  a  remote  era,  — 
the  war  and  the  period  preceding  it. 

The  activity  of  Sis  Poteet  found  ample  scope, 
and,  whether  lingering  for  a  moment  at  her 
father's  side  like  a  bird  poised  in  flight,  or  mov- 
ing lightly  through  the  figures  of  the  cotillon, 
she  never  appeared  to  better  advantage. 

Toward  midnight,  when  the  frolic  was  at  its 
height,  an  unexpected  visitor  announced  himself. 
It  was  Uncle  Jake  Norris,  who  lived  on  the  far 
side  of  the  Mountain.  The  fiddler  waved  his 
bow  at  Uncle  Jake,  and  the  boys  and  girls  cried, 
"  Howdy,"  as  the  visitor  stood  beaming  and 
smiling  in  the  doorway.  To  these  demonstra- 
tions Uncle  Jake,  "  a  chunk  of  a  white  man 
with  a  whole  heart,"  as  he  described  himself, 


78  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

made  cordial  response,  and  passed  on  into  the 
kitchen.  The  good  humor  of  Mr.  Norris  was  as 
prominent  as  his  rotundity.  When  he  was  not 
laughing,  he  was  ready  to  laugh.  He  seated 
himself,  looked  around  at  the  company,  and 
smiled. 

"  It 's  a  long  pull  betwixt  this  an'  Atlanty," 
he  said  after  awhile;  "it  is  that,  certain  an' 
shore,  an'  I  hain't  smelt  of  the  jug  sence  I  lef 
thar.  Pull  'er  out,  Teague,  —  pull  'er  out." 

The  jug  was  forthcoming. 

"  Now,  then,"  continued  Uncle  Jake,  removing 
the  corn-cob  stopper,  "this  looks  like  home, 
sweet  home,  ez  I  may  say.  It  does,  certain  an* 
shore.  None  to  jine  me  ?  Well,  well !  Times 
change  an'  change,  but  the  jug  is  company  for 
one.  So  be  it.  Ez  St.  Paul  says,  cleave  nigh 
unto  that  which  is  good.  I  'm  f^reswfre  not  to 
feel  lonesome  tell  I  go  to  the  gallows.  Friends  J 
you  uv  got  my  good  wishes,  one  an'  all ! " 

"  What 's  a-gwine  on  ?  "  asked  Poteet. 

"The  same,"  responded  Uncle  Jake,  after 
swallowing  his  dram.  "  Allers  the  same.  Wick- 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  79 

edness  pervails  well-nigh  unto  hits  own  jestifi- 
cation.  I  uv  seed  sights !  You  all  know  the 
divers  besettings  whar'by  Jackson  Ricks  wuz 
took  off  this  season  gone,  —  murdered,  I  may 
say,  in  the  teeth  of  the  law  an'  good  govunment. 
Sirs !  I  sot  by  an'  seed  his  besetters  go  scotch- 
free." 
"Ah!" 

The  exclamation  came  from  Teague  Poteet. 
"  Yes,  sirs  !  yes,  friends  !  "  continued  Uncle 
Jake,  closing  his  eyes  and  tilting  his  chair  back. 
"  Even  so.  Nuther  does  I  boast  ez  becometh  the 
fibble-minded.  They  hurried  an'  skurried  me 
forth  an'  hence,  to  mount  upon  the  witness-stan' 
an'  relate  the  deed.  No  deniance  did  I  make. 
Ez  St.  Paul  says,  sin,  takin'  occasion  by  the 
commandment,  worked  in  me  all  manner  of  con- 
spicuessence.  I  told  'em  what  these  here  eyes 
had  seed. 

"They  errayed  me  before  jedge  an'  jury," 
Uncle  Jake  went  on,  patting  the  jug  affection- 
ately, "  an'  I  bowed  my  howdies.  4  Gentermun 
friends,'  s'  I,  *  foller  me  clost,  bekaze  I  'm  a-givin' 


80  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

you  but  the  truth,  stupendous  though  it  be. 
Ef  you  thes  but  name  the  word,'  s'  I,  'I  '11  take 
an'  lay  my  han'  upon  the  men  that  done  this 
unrighteousness,  for  they  stan'  no  furder  than 
yon'  piller,'  s'  I.  *  Them  men,'  s'  I,  *  surroundered 
the  house  of  Jackson  Ricks,  gentermun  friends, 
he  bein'  a  member  of  Friendship  Church,  an' 
called  'im  forth  wi'  the  ashoreance  of  Satan  an' 
the  intents  of  evil,'  s'  I ;  '  an'  ole  en  decrippled 
ez  he  wuz,  they  shot  'im  down,  —  them  men 
at  yon'  piller,'  s'  I, '  ere  he  could  but  raise  his 
trimblin'  han'  in  supplication;  an'  the  boldest 
of  'em  dast  not  to  face  me  here  an'  say  nay,' 
*'!." 

"  An'  they  uv  cler'd  the  men  what  kilt  pore 
Jackson  Ricks  !  "  said  Teague,  rubbing  his  griz- 
zled chin. 

"Ez  clean  an'  ez  cle'r  ez  the  pa'm  er  my 
han',"  replied  Uncle  Jake,  with  emphasis. 

The  fiddle  in  the  next  room  screamed  forth 
a  jig,  and  the  tireless  feet  of  the  dancers  kept 
time,  but  there  was  profound  silence  among 
those  in  the  kitchen.  Uncle  Jake  took  advan* 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  81 

tage  of  this  pause  to  renew  his  acquaintance 
with  the  jug. 

Deputy  Marshal  Woodward  knew  of  the  kill- 
ing of  Jackson  Ricks ;  that  is  to  say,  he  was 
familiar  with  the  version  of  the  affair  which  had 
been  depended  upon  to  relieve  the  revenue  offi- 
cers of  the  responsibility  of  downright  murder  ; 
but  he  was  convinced  that  the  story  hinted  at 
by  Uncle  Jake  Norris  was  nearer  the  truth. 

As  the  young  man  rode  down  the  Mountain, 
leaving  the  fiddle  and  the  dancers  to  carry  the 
frolic  into  the  gray  dawn,  he  pictured  to  him- 
self the  results  of  the  raid  that  he  would  be 
expected  to  lead  against  Hog  Mountain,  —  the 
rush  upon  Poteet's,  the  shooting  of  the  old 
Moonshiner,  and  the  spectacle  of  the  daughter 
wringing  her  hands  and  weeping  wildly.  He 
rode  down  the  Mountain,  and  before  the  sun 
rose  he  had  written  and  mailed  his  resigna- 
tion. In  a  private  note  to  the  marshal,  en.- 
closed  with  this  document,  he  briefly  but 
clearly  set  forth  the  fact  that,  while  illicit  dis- 
tilling was  as  unlawful  as  ever,  the  man  who 


82  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET  S. 

loved  a  Moonshiner's  daughter  was  not  a  proper 
instrument  to  aid  in  its  suppression. 

But  his  letter  failed  to  have  the  effect  he 
desired,  and  in  a  few  weeks  he  received  a 
communication  from  Atlanta  setting  forth  the 
fact  that  a  raid  had  been  determined  upon. 

Meantime,  while  events  were  developing,  some 
of  the  old  women  of  the  Hog  Mountain  Range 
had  begun  to  manifest  a  sort  of  motherly  inter- 
est in  the  affairs  of  Woodward  and  Sis  Poteet. 
These  women,  living  miles  apart  on  the  Moun- 
tain and  its  spurs,  had  a  habit  of  "picking  up 
their  work  "  and  spending  the  day  with  each 
other.  Upon  one  occasion  it  chanced  that  Mrs. 
Sue  Parmalee  and  Mrs.  Puritha  Hightower  rode 
ten  miles  to  visit  Mrs.  Puss  Poteet. 

"  Don't  lay  the  blame  of  it  enter  me,  Puss," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Hightower,  —  her  shrill,  thin 
voice  in  queer  contrast  with  her  fat  and  jovial 
appearance ;  "  don't  you  lay  the  blame  onter 
me.  Dave,  he  's  been  a-complainin'  bekaze 
they  wa'n't  no  salsody  in  the  house,  an'  I  rid 
over  to  Sue's  to  borry  some.  Airter  I  got  thar, 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  83 

Sue  sez,  se'  she:  'Yess  us  pick  up  an'  go  an' 
light  in  on  Puss,'  se'  she, '  an'  fine  out  snmp'n' 
nuther  that's  a-gwine  on  'mongst  folks,'  se' 
she." 

"  Yes,  lay  it  all  onter  me,"  said  Mrs.  Parma- 
lee,  looking  over  her  spectacles  at  Mrs.  Poteet ; 
"  I  sez  to  Purithy,  s'  I,  '  Purithy,  yess  go  down 
an'  see  Puss,'  s'  I ;  '  maybe  we  '11  git  a  glimpse 
er  that  air  new  chap  with  the  slick  ha'r.  Sid  '11 
be  a-peggin'  out  airter  awhile,'  s'  I, '  an'  ef  the 
new  chap  's  ez  purty  ez  I  hear  tell,  maybe  I  '11 
set  my  cap  fer  'im,'  s'  I." 

At  this  fat  Mrs.  Puritha  Hightower  was  com- 
pelled to  lean  on  frail  Mrs.  Puss  Poteet,  so 
heartily  did  she  laugh. 

"I  declar',"  she  exclaimed,  "  ef  Sue  hain't,  a 
sight !  I  'm  mighty  nigh  outdone.  She  's  thes 
bin  a-gwine  on  that  a-way  all  the  time,  an'  I 
uv  bin  that  tickled  tell  a  little  more  an'  I  'd  a- 
drapped  on  the  groun'.  How  's  all  ?  " 

"My  goodness!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Poteet.  "I 
hope  you  all  know  me  too  well  to  be  a-stan'in' 
out  there  makin'  excuse.  Come  right  along  in, 


84  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

an'  take  off  your  things,  an'  ketch  your  win*. 
Sis  is  home  to-day." 

"Well,  I'm  monstus  glad,"  said  Mrs.  High- 
tower.  "  Sis  useter  think  the  world  an'  all  er 
me  when  she  was  a  slip  of  a  gal,  but  I  reckon 
she 's  took  on  town  ways,  hain't  she  ?  Hit  ain't 
nothin'  but  natchul." 

"Sis  is  proud  enough  for  to  hoi'  'er  head 
high,"  Mrs.  Parmalee  explained,  "  but  she  hain't 
a  bit  stuck  up." 

"  Well,  I  let  you  know,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  High- 
tower,  untying  her  bonnet  and  taking  off  her 
shawl,  —  "I  let  you  know,  here 's  what  would  n't 
be  sot  back  by  nothin1  ef  she  had  Sis's  chances. 
In  about  the  las'  word  pore  maw  spoke  on  'er 
dying  bed,  she  call  me  to  'er  an'  sez,  se'  she, 
'  Purithy  Emma,'  se'  she,  '  you  hoi'  your  head 
high;  don't  you  bat  your  eyes  to  please  none 
of  'em,'  se'  she." 

"  I  reckon  in  reason  I  oughter  be  thankful 
that  Sis  ain't  no  wuss,"  said  Mrs.  Poteet,  walk- 
ing around  with  aimless  hospitality ;  "  yit  that 
chile's  temper  is  powerful  tryin',  an'  Teague 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  85 

ackshully  an'  candidly  b'leeves  she  's  made  out'n 
pyo'  gol'.*  I  wish  I  may  die  ef  he  don't." 

After  awhile  Sis  made  her  appearance,  buoy- 
ant and  blooming.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  her 
cheeks  glowed,  and  her  smiles  showed  beautiful 
teeth,  —  a  most  uncommon  sight  in  the  Moun- 
tains, where  the  girls  were  in  the  habit  of  rub- 
bing snuff  or  smoking.  The  visitors  greeted 
her  with  the  effusive  constraint  and  awkward- 
ness that  made  so  large  a  part  of  their  lives ; 
but  after  awhile  Mrs.  Hightower  laid  her  fat, 
motherly  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  and  looked 
kindly  but  keenly  into  her  eyes. 

"  Ah,  honey ! "  she  said,  "  you  hain't  sp'ilt 
yit,  but  you  wa'ii't  made  to  fit  thish  here  hill, — 
that  you  wa'n't,  that  you  wa'n't !  " 

Women  are  not  hypocrites.  Their  little 
thrills  and  nerve  convulsions  are  genuine  while 
they  last.  Fortunately  for  the  women  them- 
selves, they  do  not  last,  but  are  succeeded  by 
others  of  various  moods,  tenses,  and  genders. 
These  nerve  convulsions  are  so  genuine  and  so 

*  Pure  gold. 


86  AT  TEA  CUE  POTEET'S. 

apt,  that  they  are  known  as  intuitions,  and 
under  this  name  they  have  achieved  importance 
Mrs.  Hightower,  with  all  her  lack  of  experience, 
was  capable  of  feeling  that  Sis  Poteet  needed 
the  by-no-means  insubstantial  encouragement 
that  lies  in  one  little  note  of  sympathy,  and  she 
was  not  at  all  astonished  when  Sis  responded 
to  her  intention  by  giving  her  a  smart  little  hug. 

Presently  Mrs.  Parmalee,  who  had  stationed 
herself  near  the  door,  lifted  her  thin  right  arm 
and  let  it  fall  upon  her  lap. 

"  Well,  sir ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  ef  yander  ain't 
Sis's  bo ! " 

Sis  ran  to  the  door,  saw  Woodward  coming 
up  the  road,  and  blushed  furiously,  —  a  feat 
which  Mrs.  Hightower  and  Mrs.  Parmalee,  with 
all  their  experience,  had  rarely  seen  performed 
in  that  region. 

Woodward  greeted  Mrs.  Poteet's  visitors  with 
a  gentle  deference  and  an  easy  courtesy  that 
attracted  their  favor  in  spite  of  themselves. 
Classing  him  with  the  "  Restercrats,"  these 
women  took  keen  and  suspicious  note  of  every 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  87 

word  he  uttered  and  every  movement  he  made, 
holding  themselves  in  readiness  to  become  mor- 
tally offended  at  a  curl  of  the  lip  or  the  lifting 
of  an  eyebrow ;  but  he  was  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion. He  humored  their  whims  and  eccentri- 
cities to  the  utmost,  and  he  was  so  thoroughly 
sympathetic,  so  genial,  so  sunny,  and  so  hand- 
some withal,  that  he  stirred  most  powerfully  the 
maternal  instincts  of  those  weather-beaten  bo- 
soms and  made  them  his  friends  and  defenders. 
He  told  them  wonderful  stories  of  life  in  the 
great  world  that  lay  far  beyond  Hog  Mountain, 
its  spurs  and  its  foot-hills.  He  lighted  their 
pipes,  and  even  filled  them  out  of  his  own 
tobacco  pouch,  a  proceeding  which  caused  Mrs. 
Parmalee  to  remark  that  she  "  would  like  man- 
nyfac'  *  mighty  well  ef  't  wer'  n't  so  powerful 
weak." 

Mrs.  Hightower  found  early  opportunity  to 
deliver  her  verdict  in  Sis's  ear,  whereupon  the 
latter  gave  her  a  little  hug  and  whispered,  — 

*  "  Manufactured  "  tobacco,  in  contradistinction  to  the  nat 
oral  leaf. 


88  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

"  Oh,  I  just  think  he 's  adorable  ! "  It  was 
very  queer,  however,  that  as  soon  as  Sis  was 
left  to  entertain  Mr.  Woodward  (the  women 
making  an  excuse  of  helping  Puss  about  din- 
ner), she  lost  her  blushing  enthusiasm,  and 
became  quite  cold  and  reserved.  The  truth 
is,  Sis  had  convinced  herself  some  days  before 
that  she  had  the  right  to  be  very  angry  with 
this  young  man,  and  she  began  her  quarrel, 
as  lovely  woman  generally  does,  by  assuming 
an  air  of  tremendous  unconcern.  Her  disinter- 
estedness was  really  provoking. 

"  Hew  did  you  like  Sue  Fraley's  new  bonnet 
last  Sunday  ? "  she  asked,  with  an  innocent 
smile. 

"  Sue  Fraley's  new  bonnet ! "  exclaimed 
Woodward,  surprised  in  the  midst  of  some 
serious  reflections  ;  "  why,  I  did  n't  know  she 
had  a  new  bonnet." 

"  Oh  !  you  did  n't  f  You  were  right  opposite. 
I  should  think  anybody  could  see  she  had  a  new 
bonnet  by  the  way  she  tossed  her  head." 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  notice  it,  for  one.     Was  it 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  89 

one  of  these  sky-scrapers?  I  was  looking  at 
something  else." 

"  Oh!" 

Woodward  had  intended  to  convey  a  very 
delicately  veiled  compliment,  but  this  young 
woman's  tone  rather  embarrassed  him.  He 
saw  in  a  moment  that  she  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  playful  and  ingenious  banter 
which  he  had  contrived  to  make  the  basis  of 
their  relations. 

"  Yes,"  he  said, "  I  was  looking  at  something 
else.  I  had  other  things  to  think  about." 

"  Well,  she  did  have  a  new  bonnet,  with 
yellow  ribbons.  She  looked  handsome.  I  hear 
she 's  going  to  get  married  soon." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it.  She  's  none  too  young," 
said  Woodward. 

At  another  time  Sis  would  have  laughed 
at  the  suggestion  implied  in  this  remark,  but 
now  she  only  tapped  the  floor  gently  with  her 
foot,  and  looked  serious. 

"I  hope  you  answered  her  note,"  she  said 
presently. 


90  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

"  What  note  ? "  he  asked,  with  some  aston- 
ishment. 

Sis  was  the  picture  of  innocence. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  think  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
reckon  it's  a  great  secret.  I  mean  the  note 
she  handed  you  when  she  came  out  of  church. 
It's  none  of  my  business." 

"  Nor  of  mine,  either,"  said  Woodward,  with  a 
relieved  air.  "  The  note  was  for  Tip  Watson." 

This  statement,  which  was  not  only  plausible, 
but  true,  gave  a  new  direction  to  Sis's  anger. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  anybody  that  thinks 
anything  of  himself  could  be  a  mail-carrier 
for  Sue  Fraley"  she  exclaimed  scornfully ; 
whereupon  she  flounced  out,  leaving  Woodward 
in  a  state  of  bewilderment. 

He  had  not  made  love  to  the  girl,  princi- 
pally because  her  moods  were  elusive  and 
her  methods  unique.  She  was  dangerously 
like  other  women  of  his  acquaintance,  and 
dangerously  unlike  them.  The  principal  of 
the  academy  in  Gullettsville  —  a  scholarly 
old  gentleman  from  Middle  Georgia,  who  had 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  91 

been  driven  to  teaching  by  dire  necessity  — 
had  once  loftily  informed  Woodward  that  Miss 
Poteet  was  superior  to  her  books,  and  the 
young  man  had  verified  the  statement  to  his 
own  discomfiture.  She  possessed  that  feminine 
gift  which  is  of  more  importance  to  a  woman 
in_this  world  than  scholarly  acquirements, — 
aptitude.  Even  her  frankness  —  perfectly  dis- 
creet —  charmed  and  puzzled  Woodward;  but 
the  most  attractive  of  her  traits  were  such  as 
mark  the  difference  between  the  bird  that  - 
sings  in  the  tree  and  the  bird  that  sings  in 
tHe  'cagep^delightfut,  hut  Indescribable. 

When  Sis  Poteet  began  to  question  him 
about  Sue  Fraley,  the  thought  that  she  was 
moved  by  jealousy  gave  him  a  thrill  that  was 
new  to  his  experience ;  but  when  she  flounced 
angrily  out  of  the  room  because  he  had  con- 
fessed to  carrying  a  note  from  Miss  Fraley  to 
Tip  Watson,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might 
be  mistaken.  Indeed,  so  cunning  does  mascu- 
line stupidity  become  when  it  is  played  upon 
by  a  woman  that  he  frightened  himself  with 


92  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

the  suggestion  that  perhaps,  after  all,  this  per- 
fectly original  young  lady  was  in  love  with  Tip 
Watson. 

During  the  rest  of  the  day  Woodward  had 
ample  time  to  nurse  and  develop  his  new  the- 
ory ;  and  the  more  he  thought  it  over,  the 
more  plausible  it  seemed  to  be.  It  was  a  great 
blow  to  his  vanity  ;  but  the  more  uncomfortable 
it  made  him,  the  more  earnestly  he  clung  to  it. 

Without  appearing  to  avoid  him,  Sis  man- 
aged to  make  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Parmalee  and 
Mrs.  Hightower  an  excuse  for  neglecting  him. 
She  entertained  these  worthy  ladies  with  such 
eager  hospitality  that  when  they  aroused  them- 
selves to  the  necessity  of  going  home,  they  found, 
to  their  dismay,  that  it  would  be  impossible,  in 
the  language  of  Mrs.  Poteet,  to  "git  half-way 
acrost  Pullium's  Summit  'fore  night  'ud  ketch 
'em."  Sis  was  so  delighted,  apparently,  that 
she  became  almost  hilarious ;  and  her  gayety 
affected  all  around  her  except  Woodward,  who 
barely  managed  to  conceal  his  disgust. 

After  supper,  however,  Mrs.  Poteet  and  her 


AT  TEAGUE  PO TEST'S.  93 

two  guests  betook  themselves  to  the  kitchen, 
where  they  rubbed  snuff  and  smoked  their  pipes, 
and  gossiped,  and  related  reminiscences  of  that 
good  time  which,  with  old  people,  is  always  in 
the  past.  Thus  Woodward  had  ample  oppor-^ 
tunity  to  talk  with  Sis.  He  endeavored,  by  the 
exercise  of  every  art  of  conversation  and  manner 
of  which  he  was  master,  to  place  their  rela- 
tions upon  the  old  familiar  footing,  but  he 
failed  most  signally.  He  found  it  impossible  to 
fathom  the  gentle  dignity  with  which  he  was 
constantly  repulsed.  In  the  midst  of  his  per- 
plexity, which  would  have  been  either  pathetic 
or  ridiculous  if  it  had  not  been  so  artfully  con- 
cealed, he  managed  for  the  first  time  to  measure 
the  depth  of  his  love  for  this  exasperating  but 
charming  creature  whom  he  had  been  patron- 
izing. She  was  no  longer  amusing ;  and  Wood- 
ward, with  the  savage  inconsistency  of  a  man 
moved  by  a  genuine  passion,  felt  a  tragic  desire 
to  humble  himself  before  her. 

"  I  'm  going  home  to-morrow,  Miss  Sis,"  he 
said,  finally,  in  sheer  desperation. 


94  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

"Well,  you've  had  a  heap  of  fun  —  I  mean," 
she  added,  "  that  you  have  had  a  nice  time." 

"  I  have  been  a  fool ! "  he  exclaimed  bitterly. 
Seeing  that  she  made  no  response,  he  continued  : 
"  I  've  been  a  terrible  fool  all  through.  I  came 
here  to  hunt  up  blockade  whiskey  —  " 

"  What!" 

Sis's  voice  was  sharp  and  eager,  full  of  doubt, 
surprise,  and  consternation. 

"  I  came  to  Gullettsville,"  he  went  on,  "  to 
hunt  up  blockade  whiskey  and  failed,  and  three 
weeks  ago  I  sent  in  my  resignation.  I  thought 
I  might  find  a  gold  mine  on  my  land-lot,  but 
I  have  failed  ;  and  now  I  am  going  to  sell  it.  I 
have  failed  in  everything." 

Gloating  over  his  alleged  misfortunes,  Wood- 
ward, without  looking  at  Sis  Poteet,  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  formidable-looking  envelope,  un- 
folded its  contents  leisurely,  and  continued, — 

"  Even  my  resignation  was  a  failure.  Hog 
Mountain  will  be  raided  to-morrow  or  next 
day." 

Sis  rose  from  her  chair,  pale  and  furious,  and 


AT   TEA  CUE  POTEET'S.  95 

advanced  toward  him  as  if  to  annihilate  him 
with  her  blazing  eyes.  Such  rage,  such  con- 
tempt, he  had  never  before  beheld  in  a  woman's 
face.  He  sat  transfixed.  With  a  gesture  almost 
tragic  in  its  vehemence,  the  girl  struck  the  pa- 
pers from  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  you  mean,  sneaking  wretch  !  You  —  " 
And  then,  as  if  realizing  the  weakness  of 
mere  words,  she  turned  and  passed  swiftly  from 
the  room.  Woodward  was  thoroughly  aroused. 
He  was  not  used  to  the  spectacle  of  a  woman 
controlled  by  violent  emotions,  and  he  recog- 
nized, with  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  alarm,  the 
great  gulf  that  lay  between  the  rage  of  Sis 
Poteet  and  the  little  platitudes  and  pretences 
of  anger  which  he  had  seen  the  other  women 
of  his  acquaintance  manage  with  such  pretty 
daintiness. 

As  the  girl  passed  through  the  kitchen,  she 
seized  a  horn  that  hung  upon  the  wall  and  ran 
out  into  the  darkness.  The  old  women  con- 
tinued their  smoking,  their  snuff-rubbing,  and 
their  gossiping.  Mrs.  Hightower  was  giving 


'96  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

the  details  of  a  local  legend  showing  how  and 
why  Edny  Favers  had  "  conjured "  Tabithy 
Cozby,  when  suddenly  Mrs.  Poteet  raised  her 
hands,  — 

"Sh-k-h!" 

The  notes  of  a  horn  —  short,  sharp,  and  stren- 
uous —  broke  in  upon  the  stillness  of  the  night. 
Once,  twice,  thrice !  once,  twice,  thrice !  once, 
twice,  thrice!  It  was  an  alarm  that  did  not 
need  to  be  interpreted  to  the  sensitive  ear  of 
Hog  Mountain.  The  faces  of  the  old  women 
'became  curiously  impassive.  The  firelight  car- 
ried their  shadows  from  the  floor  to  the  rafters, 
•••^  where  they  seemed  to  engage  in  a  wild  dance, 
—  whirling,  bowing,  jumping,  quivering ;  but 
the  women  themselves  sat  as  still  as  statues. 
They  were  evidently  waiting  for  something. 
They  did  not  wait  long.  In  a  little  while  the 
sharp  notes  of  the  horn  made  themselves  heard 
-again,  —  once,  twice,  thrice  !  once,  twice,  thrice  ! 
once,  twice,  thrice ! 

Then  the  old  women  arose  from  their  low 
•chairs,  shook  out  their  frocks,  and  filed  into  the 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  97 

room  where  Mr.  Philip  Woodward,  late  of  the 
revenue  service,  was  sitting.  There  would  have 
been  a  good  deal  of  constraint  on  both  sides ; 
but  before  there  could  be  any  manifestation  of 
this  sort,  Sis  came  in.  She  seemed  to  be 
crushed  and  helpless,  nay,  even  humiliated. 

"Why,  my  goodness,  Sis!"  exclaimed  Mrs, 
Hightower,  "  you  look  natchully  fagged  out. 
A  body  'ud  think  you  'd  bin  an'  taken  a  run  up 
the  mountain.  We  all  'lowed  you  wuz  in  here 
lookin'  airter  your  comp'ny.  Wher'  'd  you  git 
the  news  ?  " 

"From  this  gentleman  here,"  Sis  replied, 
indicating  Woodward  without  looking  at  him. 
She  was  pale  as  death,  and  her  voice  was  low 
and  gentle. 

Woodward  would  have  explained,  but  the 
apparent  unconcern  of  the  women  gave  him 
no  opportunity. 

"  I  declare,  Sis,"  exclaimed  her  mother,  with 
a  fond,  apologetic  little  laugh  ;  "  ef  you  hain't  a 
plum  sight,  I  hain't  never  seed  none." 

"  She 's    thes    es    much  like    her    Gran'pap. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

Poteet,"  said  Mrs.  Hightower,  «  ez  ef  he  'd  'a' 
spit  'er  right  out'n  his  mouth,  —  that  she  is." 

This  led  to  a  series  of  reminiscences  more 
or  less  entertaining,  until  after  awhile  Sis, 
who  had  been  growing  more  and  more  rest- 
less, rose  and  said, — 

"  Good-night,  folks  ;  I  'm  tired  and  sleepy. 
The  clock  has  struck  eleven." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Poteet,  "an*  the  clock's 
too  fast,  bekaze  it  hain't  skacely  bin  mor'n  a 
minnit  sence  the  chickens  crowed  for  ten." 

This  remark  contained  the  essence  of  hos- 
pitality, for  it  was  intended  to  convey  to  Mrs. 
Poteet's  guests  the  information  that  if  they 
were  not  ready  to  retire,  she  was  prepared  to 
discredit  her  clock  in  their  interests.  But 
there  was  not  much  delay  on  the  part  of  the 
guests.  The  women  were  dying  to  question 
Sis,  and  Woodward  was  anxious  to  be  alone ; 
and  so  they  said  "  Good-night,"  the  earnestness 
and  quaint  simplicity  of  the  old  women  car- 
rying Woodward  back  to  the  days  of  his  child- 
hood, when  his  grandmother  leaned  tenderly 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  99 

over  his    little    bed    and    whispered,    "  Good- 
night, dear  heart,  and  pleasant  dreams." 

Shortly  afterward  the  lights  were  put  out, 
and,  presumably,  those  under  Teague  Poteet's 
roof  addressed  themselves  to  slumber.  But 
what  of  the  news  that  Sis  had  given  to  the 
winds  ?  There  was  no  slumber  for  it  until 
it  had  fulfilled  its  mission.  Where  did  it  go, 
and  what  was  its  burden  ?  Three  sharp  blasts 
upon  a  horn,  thrice  repeated ;  then  an  inter- 
val ;  then  three  more,  thrice  repeated.  Up, 
up  the  mountain  the  signal  climbed ;  now  fal- 
tering, now  falling,  but  always  climbing;  send- 
ing echoes  before  it,  and  leaving  echoes  behind 
it,  but  climbing,  climbing;  now  fainting  and 
dying  away,  but  climbing,  climbing,  until  it 
reached  Pullium's  Summit,  the  smallest  thread 
of  sound.  Two  men  were  sitting  talking  in 
front  of  a  cabin.  The  eldest  placed  one  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  his  companion,  and  flung 
the  other  to  his  ear.  Faint  and  far,  but  clear 
and  strenuous,  came  the  signal.  The  men 
listened  even  after  it  had  died  away.  The 


100  AT   TEAGUE   POTEETS. 

leaves  of  the  tall  chestnuts  whipped  each  other 
gently,  and  the  breeze  that  had  borne  the 
signal  seemed  to  stay  in  the  tops  of  the  moun- 
tain pines  as  if  awaiting  further  orders;  and 
it  had  not  long  to  wait. 

The  man  who  had  held  his  hand  to  his  ear 
slapped  his  companion  on  the  back  and  cried, 
"  Poteet's ! "  and  that  was  news  enough  for 
the  other,  who  rose,  stretched  himself  lazily, 
and  passed  into  the  cabin.  He  came  out  with 
a  horn, —  an  exaggerated  trumpet  made  of  tin, 
—  and  with  this  to  his  lips  he  repeated  to  the 
waiting  breeze,  and  to  the  echoes  that  were 
glad  to  be  aroused,  the  news  that  had  come 
.from  Poteet's.  Across  the  broad  plateau  of 
Pullium's  Summit  the  wild  tidings  flew  until, 
reaching  the  western  verge  of  the  mountain, 
they  dived  down  into  Prather's  Mill  Road, — 
:-a  vast  gorge,  so  called  because  of  the  freak 
of  a  drunken  mountaineer,  who  declared  he 
would  follow  the  stream  that  rushed  through 
it  until  he  found  a  mill,  and  was  never  heard 
-of  again. 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  101 

The  news  from  Poteet's  was  not  so  easily 
lost.  It  dropped  over  the  sheer  walls  of  the 
chasm,  three  hundred  feet  down,  and  refused 
to  be  drowned  out  by  the  rush  and  roar  of 
the  waters,  as  they  leaped  over  the  bowlders,- 
until  it  had  accomplished  its  mission.  For 
here  in  Prather's  Mill  Road  burned  the  slow 
fires  that  kept  the  Government  officials  in  At- 
lanta at  a  white  heat.  They  were  burning 
now.  If  one  of  the  officials  could  have  crawled 
to  the  edge  of  the  gorge,  where  everything 
seemed  dwarfed  by  the  towering  walls  of  rock 
and  the  black  abyss  from  which  they  sprang, 
he  would  have  seen  small  fitful  sparks  of 
flame  glowing  at  intervals  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  deeper  and  blacker  night  below.  These 
were  the  fires  that  all  the  power  and  ingenuity 
of  the  Government  failed  to  smother,  but 
they  were  now  blown  out  one  after  another 
by  the  blasts  from  Sis  Poteet's  horn. 

The  news  that  was  wafted  down  into  the 
depths  of  Prather's  Mill  Road  upon  the  wings 
of  the  wind  was  not  at  all  alarming.  On  the 


102  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

contrary,  it  was  received  by  the  grimy  watch- 
ers at  the  stills  witli  considerable  hilarity.  To 
the  most  of  them  it  merely  furnished  an  ex- 
cuse for  a  week's  holiday,  including  trips  to 
both  Gullettsville  and  Villa  Bay.  Freely  in- 
terpreted, it  ran  thus :  "  Friends  and  fellow- 
citizens  :  this  is  to  inform  you  that  Hog 
Mountain  is  to  be  raided  by  the  revenue  men 
by  way  of  Teague  Poteet's.  Let  us  hear  from 
you  at  once."  There  was  neither  alarm  nor 
hurry,  but  the  fires  were  put  out  quickly  be- 
cause that  was  the  first  thing  to  be  done. 

Teague  Poteet  owned  and  managed  two 
stills.  He  was  looking  after  some  "doub- 
lings" when  the  notes  of  the  horn  dropped 
down  into  the  gorge.  He  paused,  and  listened, 
and  smiled.  Uncle  Jake  Norris,  who  had  come 
to  have  his  jug  filled,  was  in  the  act  of  taking 
a  dram,  but  he  waited,  balancing  the  tin  cup 
in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  Tip  Watson  was 
telling  one  of  his  stories  to  the  two  little  boys 
who  accompanied  Uncle  Jake,  but  it  was  never 
ended. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  103 

"  Sis  talks  right  out  in  meetin',"  said  Teague, 
after  waiting  to  be  sure  there  was  no  postscript 
to  the  message. 

"What's  the  row,  Teague?"  asked  Uncle 
Jake,  swallowing  his  dram. 

"'Nother  raid  comin'  right  in  front  er  my 
door,"  Teague  explained,  "  an'  I  reckon  in 
reason  I  oughter  be  home  when  they  go  past. 
They  useter  be  a  kinder  coolness  betweenst  me 
an'  them  revenue  fellers,  but  we  went  to  work 
an'  patched  it  up." 

Tip  Watson  appeared  to  be  so  overjoyed  that 
he  went  through  all  the  forms  of  a  cotillon 
dance,  imitating  a  fiddle,  calling  the  figures, 
and  giving  his  hand  to  imaginary  partners. 
The  boys  fairly  screamed  with  laughter  at  this 
exhibition,  and  Uncle  Jake  was  so  overcome 
that  he  felt  called  upon  to  take  another  dram, 
—  a  contingency  that  was  renewed  when  Tip 
swung  from  the  measure  of  a  cotillon  to  that 
of  a  breakdown,  singing, — 

"I  hain't  bin  a-wantin'  no  mo'  wines  —  mo'  wines  — 
Seuce  daddy  got  drunk  on  low  wines  —  low  wines." 


104  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

"  Come,  Tip,"  said  Teague,  "  yess  shet  up 
shop.  Ef  Sis  ain't  a  caution,"  he  said,  after 
awhile,  as  he  moved  around  putting  things  to 
rights.  "  Ef  Sis  ain't  a  caution,  you  kin  shoot 
me.  They  hain't  no  mo'  tellin'  wher'  Sis  picked 
up  'bout  thish  'ere  raid  than  nothin'  in  the 
worl'.  Dang  me  ef  I  don't  b'lieve  the  gal 's  glad 
when  a  raid  's  a-comin'.  Wi'  Sis,  hit 's  niove- 
ment,  movement,  day  in  an'  day  out.  They 
hain't  nobody  knows  that  gal  less'n  it 's  me. 
She  knows  how  to  keep  things  a-gwine.  Some- 
times she  runs  an'  meets  me,  an'  says,  se'  she : 
'  Pap,  mammy 's  in  the  dumps ;  yess  you  an' 
me  make  out  we  er  quollin'.  Hit  '11  sorter  stir 
'er  up ; '  an'  then  Sis,  she  '11  light  in,  an'  by  the 
time  we  git  in  the  house,  she's  a-scoldin'  an' 
a-sassin'  an'  I  'm  a-cussin',  an'  airter  awhile  hit 
gits  so  hot  an'  natchul-like  that  I  thes  has  ter 
drag  Sis  out  behin'  the  chimbly  and  buss  'er 
to  make  certain  an'  shore  that  she  ain't  acci- 
dentually  flew  off  the  han'le.  Bless  your  soul 
an'  body !  she 's  a  caution !  " 

"  An'  what 's  'er  maw  a-doin'  all  that  time  ?  " 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEETS.  105 

inquired  Uncle  Jake,  as  he  took  another  dram 
with  an  indifferent  air. 

Teague  laughed  aloud  as  he  packed  the  fresh 
earth  over  his  fire. 

"  Oh,  Puss !  Puss,  she  thes  sets  thar  a-chawin' 
away  at  'er  snuff,  an'  a-knittin'  away  at  'er 
socks  tell  she  thinks  I  'm  a-pushin'  Sis  too  clost, 
an'  then  she  blazes  out  an'  blows  me  up.  Airter 
that,"  Teague  continued, "things  gits  more  home- 
like. Ef  't  wa'  n't  fer  me  an'  Sis,  I  reckon  Puss 
'ud  teetotally  fret  'erself  away." 

"  St.  Paul,"  said  Uncle  Jake,  looking  confi- 
dentially at  another  dram  which  he  had  poured 
into  the  tin  cup,  — "  St.  Paul  says  ther'  er 
divers  an'  many  wimmin,  an'  I  reckon  he  know'd. 
Ther'  er  some  you  kin  fret  an'  some  you  can't. 
Ther'  's  my  ole  'oman;  more  espeshually  she 's  one 
you  can't.  The  livin'  human  bein'  that  stirs  her 
up '11  have  ter  frail  'er  out,  er  she  '11  frail  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Teague,  by  way  of  condolence, 
"  the  man  what 's  stobbed  by  a  pitchfork  hain't 
much  better  off  'n  the  man  that  walks  bar'- 
footed  in  a  treadsaft  patch." 


106  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

The  suggestion  in  regard  to  Mistress  Norris 
seemed  to  remind  Uncle  Jake  of  something 
important.  He  called  to  his  boys,  took  another 
modest  dram,  and  disappeared  in  the  under- 
growth. Teague  Poteet  and  his  friends  were 
soon  ready  to  follow  this  worthy  example,  so 
that  in  another  hour  Prather's  Mill  Road  was 
a  Very  dull  and  uninteresting  place  from  a  rev- 
enue point  of  view. 


n. 


WOODWARD  was  aroused  during  the  night  by 
the  loud  barking  of  dogs,  the  tramp  of  horses, 
and  the  confused  murmur  of  suppressed  conver- 
sation. Looking  from  the  window,  he  judged 
by  the  position  of  the  stars  that  it  was  three  or 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  sat  upon  the 
side  of  the  bed  and  sought,  by  listening  intently, 
to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  this  untimely  com- 
motion. He  thought  he  recognized  the  voice  of 
Tip  Watson,  and  he  was  sure  he  heard  Sid  Par- 
malee's  peculiar  cough  and  chuckle.  The  con- 
versation soon  lifted  itself  out  of  the  apparent 
confusion,  and  became  comparatively  distinct. 
The  voices  were  those  of  Teague  and  Sis. 

"  Come  now,  pap,  you  must  promise." 

"  Why,  Sis,  how  kin  I.  ? " 


108  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

"  You  shall,  you  shall,  you  shall!" 

"Why,  Sis,  hon,  he  mought  be  a  spy.  Sid 
Parmalee  he  'lows  that  the  whole  dad-blamed 
business  is  a  put-up  job.  He  wants  to  bet  right 
now  that  we  '11  all  be  in  jail  in  Atlanty  'fore  the 
moon  changes.  I  lay  they  don't  none  of  'em 
fool  Sid." 

"  You  don't  love  me  any  more,"  said  Sis,  tak- 
ing a  new  tack. 

"Good  Lord,  Sis!  Why,  honey,  what  put 
that  idee  in  your  head?" 

"  I  know  you  don't,  —  I  know  it !  It 's  always 
Dave  Hightower  this,  and  Sid  Parmalee  that, 
and  old  drunken  Jake  Norris  the  other.  I  just 
know  you  don't  love  me." 

Teague  also  took  a  new  tack,  but  there  was  a 
quiver  in  his  voice  born  of  deadly  earnestness. 

"  I  tell  you,  Sis,  they  er  houndin'  airter  us ; 
they  er  runnin'  us  down ;  they  er  closin'  in  on 
us ;  they  er  hemmin'  us  up.  Airter  they  git  your 
pore  ole  pappy  an'  slam  'im  in  jail,  an'  chain 
'im  down,  who 's  a-gwineter  promise  to  take  keer 
er  him  ?  Hain't  ole  man  Josh  way  Blasingame 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  109 

bin  sent  away  off  to  A\benny  ?  Hain't  ole  man 
Cajy  Shannon  a-sarvin'  out  his  time,  humpback 
an'  cripple  ez  he  is  ?  Who  took  keer  er  them  ? 
Who  ast  anybody  to  let  up  on  'em  ?  But  don't 
you  fret,  honey ;  ef  they  hain't  no  trap  sot,  no- 
body ain't  a-gwineter  pester  him" 

"I  wouldn't  trust  that  Sid  Parmalee  out  of 
my  sight ! "  exclaimed  Sis,  beginning  to  cry. 
"  I  know  him,  and  I  know  all  of  you." 

"  But  ef  they  is  a  trap  sot,"  continued  Teague, 
ignoring  Sis's  tears,  "  ef  they  is,  I  tell  you,  hon- 
ey, a  thousan'  folks  like  me  can't  hoi'  the  boys 
down.  The  time 's  done  come  when  they  er  tee- 
totally  wore  out  with  thish  'ere  sneakin'  aroun' 
an'  hidin'-out  bizness." 

This  appeared  to  end  the  conversation,  but 
it  left  Woodward  considerably  puzzled.  Shortly 
afterward  he  heard  a  rap  at  his  door,  and  before 
he  could  respond  to  the  summons  by  inquiry 
or  invitation,  Teague  Poteet  entered  with  a 
lighted  candle  in  his  hand. 

"  I  'lowed  the  stirrin'  'roun'  mought  'a'  sorter 
rousted  you,"  said  Teague,  by  way  of  apology, 


110  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

as  he  placed  the  light  on  a  small  table  and 
seated  himself  on  a  wooden  chest. 

"  Yes.     What 's  up  ?  "  Woodward  inquired. 

"  Oh,  the  boys,  —  thes  the  boys,"  Teague  re- 
plied, chuckling  and  rubbing  his  chin  with  an 
embarrassed  air;  "hit's  thes  the  boys  cuttin' 
up  some  er  ther  capers.  They  er  mighty  quare, 
the  boys  is,"  he  continued,  his  embarrassment 
evidently  increasing,  "  mighty  quare.  They  uv 
up'd  an'  tuk  a  notion  for  to  go  on  a  little  frolic, 
an'  they  uv  come  by  airter  me,  an'  nothin'  won't 
do  'em  but  I  mus'  letch  you.  S'  I, '  Genterwew, 
they  hain't  no  manners  in  astin'  a  man  on  a 
marchin'  frolic  this  time  er  night,'  s'  I ;  but  Sid 
Parmalee,  he  chipped  in  an'  'lowed  that  you  wuz 
ez  high  up  for  fun  ez  the  next  man." 

Woodward  thought  he  understood  the  drift 
of  things,  but  he  was  desperately  uncertain.  He 
reflected  a  moment,  and  then  faced  the  situation 
squarely. 

"  If  you  were  in  my  place,  Mr.  Poteet,  what 
would  you  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

This  seemed  to  relieve  Teague.     His  embar* 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  Ill 

rassment  disappeared.  His  eyes,  which  had  been 
wandering  uneasily  around  the  room,  sought 
Woodward's  face  and  rested  there.  He  took  off 
his  wide-brimmed  wool  hat,  placed  it  carefully 
upon  the  floor,  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
iron-gray  hair. 

"  I  don't  mind  sayin',"  he  remarked  grimly, 
"  that  I  uv  seed  the  time  when  I  'd  uv  ast  you  to 
drap  out'n  that  winder  an'  make  for  the  bushes, 
knowin'  that  you  'd  tote  a  han'ful  er  bullets  in 
thar  wi'  you.  But  on  account  er  me  an'  Sis, 
I'm  willin'  to  extracise  my  bes'  judgment.  It 
mayn't  be  satisfactual,  but  me  and  Sis  is 
mighty  long-headed  when  we  pulls  tergether. 
Ef  I  was  you,  I  'd  thes  slip  on  my  duds,  an'  I  'd 
go  out  thar  whar  the  boys  is,  an'  I  'd  be  high  up 
for  the'r  frolic,  an'  I  'd  jine  in  wi'  'em,  an'  I  'd 
raise  any  chune  they  give  out." 

With  this  Poteet  gravely  bowed  himself  outy 
and  in  a  very  few  minutes  Woodward  was  dressed 
and  ready  for  adventure.  He  was  young  and 
bold,  but  he  felt  strangely  ill  at  ease.  He  real- 
ized that,  with  all  his  address,  he  had  never 


112  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

been  able  to  gain  the  confidence  of  these  moun- 
taineers, and  he  felt  sure  they  connected  him 
with  the  revenue  raid  that  was  about  to  be  made, 
and  of  which  they  had  received  information. 
He  appreciated  to  the  fullest  extent  the  fact 
that  the  situation  called  for  the  display  of  all 
the  courage  and  coolness  and  nerve  he  could 
command;  but,  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  he  longed 
for  an  opportunity  to  show  Sis  Poteet  the  dif- 
ference between  a  real  man  and  a  feeble-minded, 
jocular  rascal  like  Tip  Watson. 

His  spirits  rose  as  he  stepped  from  the  low 
piazza  into  the  darkness,  and  made  his  way  to 
where  he  heard  the  rattle  of  stirrups  and  spurs. 
Some  one  hailed  him,  — 

"  Hello,  Cap !  " 

"  Ah-yi !  "  he  responded.  "  It 's  here  we  go, 
.gals,  to  the  wedding." 

"  I  knowed  we  could  count  on  'im,"  said 
the  voice  of  Tip  Watson. 

"Yes,"  said  Sid  Parmalee,  "I  knowed  it  so 
well  that  I  fotch  a  extry  hoss." 

"  Where  are  we  going  ? "  Woodward  asked. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  113 

"Well,"  said  Parmalee, "  the  boys  laid  off 
for  to  have  some  fun,  an'  it 's  done  got  so  these 
times  that  when  a  feller  wants  fun  he 's  got  to 
git  furder  up  the  mounting." 

If  the  words  were  evasive,  the  tone  was  far 
more  so ;  but  Woodward  paid  little  attention  to 
either.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man  accustomed  to 
being  called  up  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning 
to  go  forth  on  mysterious  expeditions. 

A  bright  fire  was  blazing  in  Poteet's  kitchen, 
and  the  light,  streaming  through  the  wide  door- 
way, illuminated  the  tops  of  the  trees  on  the 
edge  of  the  clearing.  Upon  this  background 
the  shadows  of  the  women,  black  and  vast, — 
Titanic  indeed,  —  were  projected  as  they  passed 
to  and  fro.  From  within  there  came  a  sound 
as  of  the  escape  of  steam  from  some  huge  engine  ; 
but  the  men  waiting  on  the  outside  knew  that 
the  frying-pan  was  doing  its  perfect  work. 

The  meat  sizzled  and  fried;  the  shadows  in 
the  tops  of  the  trees  kept  up  what  seemed  to 
be  a  perpetual  promenade,  and  the  men  out- 
side waited  patiently  and  silently.  This  silence 


114  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

oppressed  Woodward.  He  knew  that  but  for 
his  presence  the  mountaineers  would  be  con- 
sulting together  and  cracking  their  dry  jokes. 
In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  recognized  in  the 

^curious  impassiveness  of  these  people  the  funda- 
\nental  qualities  of  courage  and  endurance,  he 

{resented  it  as  a  barrier  which  he  had  never  been 

(able  to  break  down.  He  would  have  preferred 
violence  of  some  sort.  He  could  meet  rage 
with  rage,  and  give  blow  for  blow ;  but  how  was 
he  to  deal  with  the  reserve  by  which  he  was 
surrounded  ?  He  was  not  physically  helpless,  by 
any  means  ;  but  the  fact  that  he  had  no  remedy 
against  the  attitude  of  the  men  of  Hog  Moun- 
tain chafed  him  almost  beyond  endurance.  He 

^was  emphatically  a  man  of  action,  —  full  of  the 
enterprises  usually  set  in  motion  by  a  bright  mind, 
a  quick  temper,  and  ready  courage  ;  but,  measured 
by  the  impassiveness  which  these  men  had 
apparently  borrowed  from  the  vast,  aggressive 
silences  that  give  strength  and  grandeur  to  their 
mountains,  how  trivial,  how  contemptible,  all 
his  activities  seemed  to  be! 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  115 

But  the  frying  was  over  after  awhile.  The 
Titanic  shadows  went  to  roost  in  the  tops  of 
the  trees,  and  Teague  Poteet  and  his  friends, 
including  ex-Deputy  Woodward,  took  them- 
selves and  their  fried  meat  off  up  the  mountain, 
and  the  raid  followed  shortly  after.  It  was  a 
carefully  planned  raid,  and  deserved  to  be  called 
a  formidable  one.  Like  many  another  similar 
enterprise  it  was  a  failure,  so  far  as  the  pur- 
poses of  the  Government  were  concerned ;  but 
fate  or  circumstance  made  it  famous  in  the 
political  annals  of  that  period.  Fifteen  men, 
armed  with  carbines,  rode  up  the  mountain. 
They  were  full  of  the  spirit  of  adventure.  They 
felt  the  strong  arm  of  the  law  behind  them. 
They  knew  they  were  depended  upon  to  make 
some  sort  of  demonstration ;  and  this  together 
with  a  dram  too  much  here  and  there,  made 
them  a  trifle  reckless  and  noisy.  They  had 
been  taught  to  believe  that  they  were  in  search 
of  outlaws.  They  caught  from  the  officers 
who  organized  them  something  of  the  irritation 
which  was  the  natural  resuit  of  so  many 


116  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

fruitless  attempts  to  bring  Hog  Mountain  to 
terms.  They  betrayed  a  sad  lack  of  discre- 
tion. They  brandished  their  weapons  in  the 
frightened  faces  of  women  and  children,  and 
made  many  foolish  mistakes  which  need  not  be 
detailed  here. 

They  rode  noisily  over  the  mountain,  making 
a  circle  of  Pullium's  Summit,  and  found  noth- 
ing. They  peered  over  the  precipitous  verge  of 
Prather's  Mill  Road,  and  saw  nothing.  They 
paused  occasionally  to  listen,  and  heard  noth- 
ing. They  pounced  upon  a  lonely  pedler  who 
was  toiling  across  the  mountain  with  his  pack 
upon  his  back,  and  plied  him  with  questions 
concerning  the  Moonshiners.  This  pedler  ap- 
peared to  be  a  very  ignorant  fellow  indeed.  He 
knew  his  name  was  Jake  Cohen,  and  that  was 
about  all.  He  had  never  crossed  Hog  Mountain 
before,  and,  so  help  his  gracious,  he  would  never 
cross  it  again.  The  roads  were  all  rough,  and 
the  ladies  were  all  queer.  As  for  the  latter  — 
well,  great  Jingo !  they  would  scarcely  look  at 
his  most  beautiful  collection  of  shawls  and  rib- 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  117" 

bons  and  laces,  let  alone  buy  them.  In  Villa 
Ray  (or,  as  Cohen  called  it,  "Feel  Hooray") 
he  had  heard  that  Teague  Poteet  had  been  ar- 
rested and  carried  to  Atlanta  by  a  man  named 
Woodward.  No  one  had  told  him  this,  but 
he  heard  people  talking  about  it  wherever 
he  went  in  Villa  Ray,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  a  good  deal  of  excitement  in  the  settle- 
ment. 

Cohen  was  a  droll  customer,  the  revenue  offi- 
cers thought ;  and  the  longer  they  chatted  with 
him  the  droller  he  became.  First  and  last 
they  drew  from  him  fvhat  they  considered  to  be 
some  very  important  information.  But  most 
important  of  all  was  the  report  of  the  arrest 
of  Teague  Poteet.  The  deputies  congratulated 
themselves.  They  understood  the  situation 
thoroughly,  and  their  course  was  perfectly  plain. 
Poteet,  in  endeavoring  to  escape  from  them,  had 
fallen  into  the  clutches  of  Woodward,  and  their 
best  plan  was  to  overtake  the  latter  before  he 
reached  Atlanta  with  his  prize,  and  thus  share 
in  the  honor  of  the  capture.  With  this  purpose 


118  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

in  view  they  took  a  dram  all  round  and  turned 
their  horses'  heads  down  the  mountain. 

Cohen  was  indeed  a  droll  fellow.  He  stood 
in  the  road  until  the  revenue  men  had  disap- 
peared. Then  he  unbuckled  the  straps  of  his 
pack,  dropped  it  upon  the  ground,  and  sat  down 
upon  a  bowlder.  With  his  head  between  his 
hands,  he  appeared  to  be  lost  in  thought,  but 
he  was  only  listening.  He  remained  listening 
until  after  the  sounds  of  the  horses'  feet  had 
died  away. 

Then  he  carried  his  precious  pack  a  little 
distance  from  the  roadside,  covered  it  with 
leaves,  listened  a  moment  to  be  sure  that  the 
deputies  were  not  returning,  and  then  proceeded 
to  a  little  ravine  in  the  side  of  the  mountain 
where  the  Moonshiners  lay.  He  had  been  wait- 
ing nearly  two  days  where  the  revenue  men 
found  him,  and  his  story  of  the  capture  of 
Teague  Poteet  was  concocted  for  the  purpose 
of  sending  the  posse  back  down  the  mountain 
the  way  they  came.  If  they  had  gone  on  a 
mile  farther  they  would  have  discovered  signs  of 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  119 

the  Moonshiners,  and  this  discovery  would  have 
led  to  a  bloody  encounter,  if  not  to  the  capture 
of  the  leaders. 

The  deputies  rode  down  the  mountain  in  the 
best  of  spirits.  They  had  accomplished  more 
than  any  other  posse ;  they  had  frightened  the 
Moonshiners  of  Hog  Mountain  to  their  hiding- 
places,  and  not  a  deputy  had  been  killed  or  even 
wounded.  The  clatter  they  made  as  they  jour- 
neyed along  attracted  the  attention  of  Ab 
Bonner,  a  boy  about  fifteen,  who  happened  to 
be  squirrel-hunting,  and  he  stepped  into  the 
road  to  get  a  good  view  of  them.  He  was  well 
grown  for  his  age,  and  his  single-barrelled  shot- 
gun looked  like  a  rifle.  The  revenue  men 
halted  at  once.  They  suspected  an  ambus- 
cade. Experience  had  taught  them  that  the 
Moonshiners  would  fight  when  the  necessity 
arose,  and  they  held  a  council  of  war.  The 
great  gawky  boy,  with  the  curiosity  of  youth 
and  ignorance  combined,  stood  in  the  road  and 
watched  them.  When  they  proceeded  toward 
him  in  a  compact  body,  he  passed  on  across 


120  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

the  road.  Hearing  a  command  to  halt,  he 
broke  into  a  run,  and  endeavored  to  make  his 
way  across  a  small  clearing  that  bordered  the 
road.  Several  of  the  deputies  fired  their  guns 
in  the  air ;  but  one,  more  reckless  than  the  rest, 
aimed  directly  at  the  fugitive,  and  Ab  Bonner 
fell,  shot  through  and  through. 

Viewed  in  its  relations  to  all  the  unfortunate 
events  that  have  marked  the  efforts  of  the  Gov- 
ernment officials  to  deal  with  the  violators  of  the 
revenue  laws  from  a  political  point  of  view,  the 
shooting  of  this  ignorant  boy  was  insignificant 
enough.  But  it  was  important  to  Hog  Mountain. 
For  a  moment  the  deputy-marshals  were  stunned 
and  horrified  at  the  result  of  their  thoughtless- 
ness. Then  they  dismounted  and  bore  the  boy 
to  the  roadside  again  and  placed  him  under  the 
shade  of  a  tree.  His  blood  shone  upon  the 
leaves,  and  his  sallow,  shrunken  face  told  a  piti- 
ful tale  of  terror,  pain,  and  death. 

The  deputy-marshals  mounted  their  horses 
and  rode  steadily  and  swiftly  down  the  moun- 
tain, and  by  nightfall  they  were  far  away.  But 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  121 

there  was  no  need  of  any  special  haste.  The 
winds  that  stirred  the  trees  could  carry  no 
messages.  The  crows  flying  over,  though  they 
made  a  great  outcry,  could  tell  no  tales.  Once 
the  boy  raised  his  hand  and  cried,  "  Mammy  !  " 
but  there  was  no  one  to  hear  him.  And  though 
ten  thousand  ears  should  listen,  the  keenest 
could  hear  him  no  more.  He  became  a  part 
of  the  silence  —  the  awful,  mysterious  silence 
—  that  sits  upon  the  hills  and  shrouds  the 
mountains. 

This  incident  in  the  tumultuous  experience 
of  Hog  Mountain  —  the  killing  of  Ab  Bonner 
was  merely  an  incident  —  had  a  decisive  effect 
upon  the  movements  of  ex-Deputy  Woodward. 
When  Jake  Cohen  succeeded  in  turning  the 
revenue  officials  back,  the  mountaineers  made 
themselves  easy  for  the  day  and  night,  and  next 
morning  prepared  to  go  to  their  homes.  Some 
of  them  lived  on  one  side  of  Hog  Mountain,  and 
eome  on  the  other.  They  called  themselves 
neighbors,  and  yet  they  lived  miles  apart ;  and 
it  so  happened  that,  with  few  exceptions,  each 


122  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

went  in  a  different  direction.  Teague  Poteet 
gave  the  signal. 

"  Come,  Cap,"  he  said  to  Woodward,  "  yess 
be  a-traipsin'.  Puss  '11  be  a-puttin'  on  biskits 
for  supper  before  we  git  thar  ef  we  don't  push 
on.  Be  good  to  yourse'f,  boys,  an'  don't  raise 
no  fracas." 

Poteet  and  Woodward  rode  off  together.  That 
afternoon,  half  a  mile  from  Poteet's  they  met  a 
woman  running  in  the  road,  crying  and  wringing 
her  hands  wildly.  She  moved  like  one  dis- 
tracted. She  rushed  past  them  crying, — 

u  They  uv  killed  little  Ab  !  They  uv  killed 
him.  Oh,  Lordy !  they  uv  killed  little  Ab  {  ° 

She  ran  up  the  road  a  little  distance  and  then 
came  running  back;  she  had  evidently  recog- 
nized Poteet.  As  she  paused  in  the  road  near 
them,  her  faded  calico  sun-bonnet  hanging  upon 
her  shoulders,  her  gray  hair  falling  about  her 
face,  her  wrinkled  arms  writhing  in  response 
to  a  grief  too  terrible  to  contemplate,  she  seemed 
related  in  some  vague  way  to  the  prophets  of 
old  who  were  assailed  by  fierce  sorrows.  Here 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  123 

was  something  more  real  and  more  awful  than  ^1 
death  itself.     Woodward  felt  in  his  soul  that  the  / 
figure,  the  attitude,  the  misery,  of  this  poor  old  / 
woman  were  all  biblical.  X 

"  Oh,  Teague,"  she  cried,  "  they  uv  killed  him ! 
They  uv  done  killed  my  little  Ab !  Oh,  Lordy  .' 
that  mortal  hain't  a-livin'  that  he  ever  done  any 
harm.  What  did  they  kill  him  for  ?"  Then  she 
turned  to  Woodward:  "Oh,  Mister,  Mister! 
please  tell  me  what  he  done.  I'm  the  one  that 
made  the  liquor,  I  'm  the  one.  Oh,  Lordy !  what 
did  they  kill  little  Ab  for?" 

Teague  Poteet  dismounted  from  his  horse, 
took  the  woman  firmly  but  gently  by  the  arm, 
and  made  her  sit  down  by  the  side  of  the  road. 
Then,  when  she  was  more  composed,  she  told 
the  story  of  finding  her  son's  body.  It  was 
a  terrible  story  to  hear  from  the  lips  of  the 
mother,  but  she  grew  quieter  after  telling  it,  and 
presently  went  on  her  way.  The  two  men 
watched  her  out  of  sight. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Cap,"  said  Teague,  as  he 
flung  himself  into  the  saddle-,- "  they  er  houndin' 


124  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

airter  us.  They  er  'busin'  the  wimmin  an'  killin' 
the  childern ;  stidder  carryin'  out  the  law,  they 
er  gwine  about  a-shootin'  an'  a-murderin'.  So 
fur,  so  good.  Well,  now,  lem  me  tell  you  :  the 
hawk  's  done  lit  once  too  much  in  the  chicken- 
lot.  This  is  a  free  country.  I  hain't  a-layin' 
no  blame  on  you.  Me  and  Sis  stood  by  you» 
when  the  boys  s'ore  they  wuz  a-gwine  to  rattle 
you  up.  We  made  'em  behave  the'rse'ves,  an' » 
I  hain't  a-blamin'  you,  but  they  er  houndin'  airter 
us,  an'  ef  I  wuz  you,  I  wouldn't  stay  on  this* 
hill  nary  'nuther  minnit  longer  than  it  'ud  take 
me  to  git  off'n  it.  When  the  boys  git  wind  er« 
this  ungodly  bizness,  they  ull  be  mighty  hard  to 
hoi'.  I  reckon  maybe  you'll  be  a-gwine  down 
about  Atlanty.  Well,  you  thes  watch  an'  see* 
what  stan'  the  Government 's  gwineter  take  'bout 
Ab  Bonner ;  an'  ef  hit  don't  take  no  stan',  you* 
thes  drap  in  thar  an'  tell  'em  how  you  seed  a 
ole  man  name  Teague  Poteet,  an'  he  'lowed  that 
the  revenue  fellers  better  not  git  too  clost  ter 
Hog  Mountain,  bekaze  the  hidin'-out  bizness  is, 
done  played.  The  law  what 's  good  enough  fer 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEET' S.  125 

pore  little  Ab  Bonner  is  good  enough  fer  the 
men  what  shot  'im." 

They  rode  on  until  they  came  to  Poteet's 
house. 

"  We  '11  thes  go  in  an'  git  a  snack,"  said 
Teague,  "  an'  airter  that  your  best  gait  is  a 
gallop." 

But  Woodward  declined.  He  was  dazed 
as  well  as  humiliated,  and  he  had  no  desire 
to  face  Sis  Poteet.  He  pictured  to  himself 
the  scorn  and  bitterness  with  which  she  would 
connect  his  presence  on  the  Mountain  with 
the  murder  of  Ab  Bonner,  and  he  concluded 
to  ride  on  to  Gullettsville.  He  took  Teague 
Poteet  by  the  hand. 

"  Good-by,  old  man,"  he  said ;  "  I  shall  re- 
member you.  Tell  Miss  Sis  —  well,  tell  Miss 
Sis  good-by."  With  that  he  wheeled  his  horse 
and  rode  rapidly  toward  Gullettsville. 

It  was  a  fortunate  ride  for  him,  perhaps. 
The  wrath  of  Hog  Mountain  was  mightily 
stirred  when  it  heard  of  the  killing  of  Ab 
Bonner,  and  Woodward  would  have  fared 


126  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

badly  at  its  hands.  The  wrath  of  others  was 
stirred  also.  The  unfortunate  affair  took  the 
shape  of  a  political  issue,  and  thus  the  hands 
of  justice  were  tied.  But  all  this  is  a  matter 
of  history,  and  need  not  be  dwelt  upon. 

In  the  meantime,  as  the  days  passed,  Teague 
Poteet  became  dimly  and  uncomfortably  con- 
scious that  a  great  change  had  come  over  Sis. 
One  day  she  would  be  as  bright  and  as  gay 
as  the  birds  in  the  trees ;  the  next,  she  would 
be  quiet,  taciturn,  and  apparently  depressed. 
As  Teague  expressed  it,  "  One  minnit  hit 's 
Sis,  an'  the  nex'  hit 's  some  un  else."  Gradually 
the  fits  of  depression  grew  more  and  more  fre- 
quent and  lasted  longer.  She  was  abstracted 
and  thoughtful,  and  her  petulance  disappeared 
altogether.  The  contrast  resulting  from  this 
change  was  so  marked  that  it  would  have  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  a  person  of  far  less 
intelligence  than  Teague  Poteet.  He  en- 
deavored to  discuss  the  matter  with  his  wife, 
but  Puss  Poteet  was  not  the  woman  to  commit 
herself.  She  was  a  Mountain  Sphinx. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  127 

"  I  'm  afeard  Sis  is  ailin',"  said  Teague,  upon 
one  occasion. 

"  Well,"  replied  Puss, "  she  ain't  complainin'." 

"  That 's  hit,"  Teague  persisted ;  "  she  hain't 
complainin'.  That 's  what  pesters  me.  She 
looks  lonesome,  an'  she 's  got  one  er  them 
kinder  fur-away  looks  in  her  eyes  that  gives 
me  the  all-overs."  The  Sphinx  rubbed  its 
snuff  and  swung  in  its  rocking-chair.  "  Some 
days  she  looks  holp  up,  an'  then  ag'in  she 
looks  cas'  down.  I  'low'd  maybe  you  mought 
know  what  ailed  her." 

"  Men  folks,"  said  Puss,  manipulating  her 
snuff-swab  slowly  and  deliberately,  "  won't 
never  have  no  sense  while  the  worl'  stan's. 
Ef  a  'oman  ain't  gwine  hether  an'  yan',  rip- 
pity-clippity,  day  in  an'  day  out,  an'  half  the 
night,  they  er  on  the'r  heads.  Wimmen  hain't 
men." 

"  That 's  so,"  replied  Teague,  gravely,  "  they 
hain't.  Ef  they  wuz,  the  men  'ud  be  in  a 
mighty  nice  fix." 

"  They  'd  have  some  sense,"  said  Puss. 


128  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

"  Likely  so.  Yit  'oman  er  man  kin  shet  one 
eye  an'  tell  that  Sis  looks  droopy ;  an'  when 
Sis  looks  droopy  I  know  in  reason  sump'n' 
nuther  ails  her." 

"Well,  goodness  knows,  I  wish  in  my  soul 
somebody  'd  shet  one  eye  an'  look  at  me," 
exclaimed  Puss,  with  a  touch  of  jealousy  in 
her  tone.  "  I  traipse  'roun'  this  hill  ontell 
I  'm  that  wore  out  I  can't  drag  one  foot  airter 
t'  other,  skacely,  an'  I  don't  never  hear  nobody 
up  an'  ast  what  ails  me.  It's  Sis,  Sis,  Sis,  all 
the  time,  an'  eternally.  Ef  the  calf's  fat,  the 
ole  cow  ain't  got  much  choice  betwixt  the 
quogmire  an'  the  tan-vat." 

"  Lord,  how  you  do  run  on,"  said  the  iron- 
gray  giant,  rubbing  his  knuckles  together 
sheepishly.  "You  don't  know  Sis  ef  you  go 
on  that  away.  Many 's  the  time  that  chile  'ud 
f oiler  me  up  an'  'say,  'Pap,  ef  you  see  my 
shawl  a-hangin'  out  on  the  fence,  Puss  '11  be 
asleep,  an'  don't  you  come  a-lumberin'  in  an' 
wake  her  up,  nuther.'  An'  many 's  the  time 
she'd  come  out  an'  meet  me,  an'  up  an'  say, 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEETS.  129 

'  Pap,  Puss  has  taken  an'  bin  a-mopin'  all 
day  long ;  yess  you  an'  me  go  in  an'  fetch  her 
up.'  An',  bless  your  life,"  Teague  continued, 
addressing  some  imaginary  person  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fireplace,  "  when  me  an'  Sis 
sets  our  heads  for  to  fetch  anybody  up,  they  er 
thes  natchully  erbleeged  to  come." 

Puss  rubbed  her  snuff  and  swayed  to  and 
fro  in  her  rocking-chair,  disdaining  to  make 
any  reply  to  this  array  of  facts  and  arguments ; 
and  Teague  was  as  ignorant  as  ever  of  the 
cause  of  the  queer  change  in  his  daughter. 
Perhaps,  as  becomes  a  dutiful  husband,  he 
should  have  retorted  upon  his  complaining  wife 
with  complaints  of  his  own ;  but  his  inter- 
ests and  his  isolation  had  made  him  thoughtful 
and  forbearing.  He  had  the  trait  of  gentle- 
ness which  frequently  sweetens  and  equalizes 
large  natures.  He  remembered  that  behind 
whatever  complaints  —  reasonable  or  unrea- 
sonable—  Puss  might  make,  there  existed  a 
stronghold  of  affection  and  tenderness ;  he 
remembered  that  her  whole  life  had  been 
9 


130  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

made  up  of  a  series  of  small  sacrifices ;  he  knew 
that  she  was  ready,  whenever  occasion  made 
it  necessary,  to  cast  aside  her  snuff-swab  and 
her  complaints,  and  go  to  the  rack  without  a 
murmur. 

But  Teague  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with 
the  condition  of  affairs,  so  far  as  Sis  was  con- 
cerned. He  said  no  more  to  his  wife,  but  he 
kept  his  eyes  open.  The  situation  was  baf- 
fling to  the  point  of  irritation,  but  Teague 
betrayed  neither  uneasiness  nor  restlessness. 
He  hung  about  the  house  more,  and  he  would 
frequently  walk  in  quietly  when  the  women 
thought  he  was  miles  away. 

There  were  times  when  Sis  ignored  his  pres- 
ence altogether,  but  as  a  general  thing  she  ap- 
peared to  relish  his  companionship.  Sometimes 
at  night,  after  her  mother  had  gone  to  bed,  she 
would  bring  her  chair  close  to  Teague's,  and 
rest  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  while  he 
smoked  his  pipe  and  gazed  in  the  fire.  Teague 
enjoyed  these  occasions  to  the  utmost,  and 
humored  his  daughter's  slightest  wish,  respond- 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEETS.  131 

ing  to  her  every  mood  and  fancy.  If  she 
talked,  he  talked;  if  she  was  silent,  he  said 
nothing.  Once  she  dropped  asleep  with  her 
head  on  his  arm,  and  Teague  sat  holding  her 
thus  half  the  night.  When  she  did  awake  she 
upbraided  herself  so  earnestly  for  imposing  on 
her  old  pappy  (as  she  called  him),  that  Teague 
yawned,  and  stretched  himself,  and  rubbed  his 
eyes,  and  pretended  that  he  too  had  been 


"  Lordy,  honey  .'  I  wuz  that  gone  tell  I  did  n't 
know  whe'er  I  'uz  rolled  up  in  a  haystack  er 
stretched  out  in  a  feather-bed.  I  reckon  ef 
you  'd  'a'  listened  right  clost  you  'd  V  heern  me 
sno'.  I  thes  laid  back  an'  howled  at  the  rafters, 
an'  once-t  er  twice-t  I  wuz  afeard  I  mout  waken 
up  Puss." 

Sis's  response  to  this  transparent  fib  was  an 
infectious  peal  of  laughter,  and  a  kiss  which 
amply  repaid  Teague  for  any  discomfort  to 
which  he  may  have  been  subjected. 

Once,    after    Sis    had    nestled    up    against 
Teague,  she  asked  somewhat  irrelevantly, — 


132  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

"  Pap,  do  you  reckon  Mr.  Woodward  was  a 
revenue  spy  after  all?" 

"  Well,  not  to'rds  the  last.  He  drapped  that 
business  airter  lie  once  seed  its  whichaways. 
What  makes  you  ast  ?  " 

"Because  I  hate  and  despise  revenue 
spies." 

"  Well,  they  hain't  been  a-botherin'  roun' 
lately,  an'  we  hain't  got  no  call  to  hate  'em  tell 
they  gits  in  sight.  Hatin'  is  a  mighty  ha'sh 
disease.  When  Puss's  preacher  comes  along, 
he  talks  ag'in  it  over  the  Bible,  an'  when  you 
call  'im  in  to  dinner,  he  talks  ag'in  it  over  the 
chicken-bones.  I  reckon  hit's  mighty  bad, — 
mighty  bad." 

"Did  you  like  him?" 

"Who?  Puss's  preacher?" 

"  Now,  you  know  I  don't  mean  him,  pap." 

"Ok!  Cap'n  Woodward.  Well,  I  tell  you 
what,  he  had  mighty  takin'  ways.  Look  in  his 
eye,  an'  you  would  n't  see  no  muddy  water ;  an' 
he  had  grit.  They  hain't  no  two  ways  about 
that.  When  I  ast  'im  out  with  us  that  night,  he 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEETS.  133 

went  like  a  man  that  had  a  stool  to  a  quiltin'- 
bee ;  an'  when  Duke  Dawson  an'  Sid  Parmalee 
flung  out  some  er  the'r  slurs,  he  thes  snapt  his 
fingers  in  the'r  face,  an'  ups  an'  says,  says  he, 
'  Gents,  ef  you  er  up  for  a  frolic,  I  'm  your  man, 
an'  ef  you  er  in  for  a  fight,  thes  count  me  in,* 
says  he.  The  boys  wuz  a  little  drinky,"  said 
Teague,  apologetically. 

Sis  squeezed  up  a  little  closer  against  her 
father's  shoulder. 

"Did  they  fight,  pap?" 

"  Lord  bless  you,  no.  I  thes  taken  an'  flung 
my  han'  in  Duke's  collar  an'  fetched  'im  a 
shake  er  two,  an'  put  'im  in  a  good  humor 
thereckly ;  an'  then  airterwerds  Tip  Watson  sot 
'em  all  right  when  he  read  out  the  letter  you 
foun'  on  the  floor." 

"  Oh,  pap ! "  Sis  exclaimed  in  a  horrified 
tone,  "I  slapped  that  letter  out  of  Mr.  Wood- 
ward's hand!" 

Teague  laughed  exultantly. 

"What'd  he  say?" 

"  He  did  n't  say  anything.     He  looked  like  he 


134  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

expected  the  floor  to  open  and  swallow  him.  I 
never  was  so  ashamed  in  my  life.  I've  cried 
about  it  a  thousand  times." 

"  Why,  honey,  I  would  n't  take  an'  cry  'bout  it 
ef  I  wuz  you." 

"Yes,  you  would,  pap,  if  —  if  —  you  were  me. 
I  don't  know  what  came  over  me ;  I  don't  know 
how  I  could  be  so  hateful.  No  Iqdy  would  ever 
do  such  a  thing  as  that." 

Sis  gave  her  opinion  with  great  emphasis. 
Teague  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  what,  honey,  they  mought 
er  done  wuss.  I  let  you  know,  when  folks  is 
got  to  be  a-runnin'  here  an'  a-hidin'  yander, 
hit's  thes  about  time  for  the  gals  for  to  lose 
the'r  manners.  Nobody  would  n't  a-blamed  you 
much  ef  you  'd  a-fetched  the  Cap'n  a  clip  stidder 
the  letter  ;  leastways,  I  would  n't." 

The  girl  shivered  and  caught  her  breath. 

" If  I  had  hit  him"  she  exclaimed  vehe- 
mently, "I  should  have  gone  off  and  killed 
myself." 

"  Shoo !  "  said  Teague,  in  a  tone  intended  to 


AT  TEAGUE  PO TEST'S.  135 

be  at  once  contemptuous  and  reassuring,  but  it 
was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 

This  conversation  gave  Teague  fresh  cause  for 
anxiety.  From  his  point  of  view,  Sis's  newly 
developed  humility  was  absolutely  alarming,  and 
it  added  to  his  uneasiness.  He  recognized  in 
her  tone  a  certain  shyness  which  seemed  to 
appeal  to  him  for  protection,  and  he  was  pro- 
foundly stirred  by  it  without  at  all  understand- 
ing it.  With  a  tact  that  might  be  traced  to 
either  instinct  or  accident,  he  refrained  from 
questioning  her  as  to  her  troubles.  He  was 
confused,  but  watchful.  He  kept  his  own  coun- 
sel, and  had  no  more  conferences  with  Puss. 
Perhaps  Puss  was  also  something  of  a  mystery  ; 
if  so,  she  was  old  enough  to  take  care  of  her 
own  affairs. 

Teague  had  other  talks  with  Sis,  —  some  gen- 
eral, some  half-confidential,  —  and  he  finally 
became  aware  of  the  fact  that  every  subject  led 
to  Woodward.  He  humored  this,  awkwardly 
but  earnestly,  and  thought  he  had  a  clew ;  but 
it  was  a  clew  that  pestered  him  more  than  ever. 


136  AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

He  turned  it  round  in  his  mind  and  brooded 
over  it.  Woodward  was  a  man  of  fine  appear- 
ance and  winning  manners,  and  Sis,  with  all  the 
advantages  —  comparative  advantages,  merely 
—  that  the  Gullettsville  Academy  had  given 
her,  was  only  a  Mountain  girl  after  all.  What 
if —  Teague  turned  away  from  the  suspicion 
in  terror.  It  was  a  horrible  one ;  but  as  often 
as  he  put  it  aside,  so  often  he  returned  to  it. 
It  haunted  him.  Turn  where  he  might,  go  where 
he  would,  it  pursued  him  night  and  day. 

One  mild  afternoon  in  the  early  spring,  Mr. 
Philip  Woodward,  ex-Deputy  Marshal,  leaned 
against  the  railing  of  Broad  Street  bridge  in 
the  city  of  Atlanta,  and  looked  northward  to 
where  Kennesaw  Mountain  rises  like  a  huge 
blue  billow  out  of  the  horizon  and  lends  pic- 
turesqueness  to  the  view.  Mr.  Woodward  was 
in  excellent  humor.  He  had  just  made  up  his 
mind  in  regard  to  a  matter  that  had  given  him 
no  little  trouble.  A  wandering  prospector,  the 
agent  of  a  company  of  Boston  capitalists,  had 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  137 

told  him  a  few  hours  before  that  he  would  be 
offered  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  his  land-lot 
on  Hog  Mountain.  This  was  very  important, 
but  it  was  not  of  the  highest  importance.  He 
nodded  familiarly  to  Kennesaw,  and  thought : 
"I  '11  slip  by  you  to-morrow  and  make  another 
raid  on  Hog  Mountain,  and  compel  that  high- 
tempered  girl  to  tell  me  what  she  means  by 
troubling  me  so." 

A  train  of  cars  ran  puffing  and  roaring  under 
the  bridge  ;  and  as  Woodward  turned  to  follow 
it  with  his  eye  he  saw  standing  upon  the  other 
side  a  tall,  gaunt,  powerful-looking  man,  whom 
he  instantly  recognized  as  Teague  Poteet. 
Teague  wore  the  air  of  awkward,  recklessly 
helpless  independence  which  so  often  deceives 
those  who  strike  the  Mountain  men  for  a  trade. 
Swiftly  crossing  the  bridge,  Woodward  seized 
Teague  and  greeted  him  with  a  cordiality  that 
amounted  to  enthusiasm. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  world,  old  man,  you  are  the 
one  I  most  wanted  to  see."  Teague's  thoughts 
ran  with  grim  directness  to  a  reward  that  had 


138  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

been  offered  for  a  certain  gray  old  Moonshiner 
who  had  made  his  head-quarters  on  Hog  Moun- 
tain. "How  are  all  at  home?"  Woodward 
went  on,  "  and  what  is  the  news  ? " 

"The  folks  is  porely  and  puny,"  Teague 
replied,  "  an'  the  news  won't  b'ar  relatin* 
skacely.  I  hain't  a-denyin',"  he  continued, 
rubbing  his  chin  and  looking  keenly  at  the 
other, "  I  hain't  a-denyin'  but  what  I  'm  a-huiitin* 
airter  you,  an'  the  business  I  come  on  hain't  got 
much  howdyin'  in  it.  Ef  you  uv  got  some  place 
er  nuther  wher'  ever'body  hain't  a-cockin'  up 
the'r  years  at  us,  I  'd  like  to  pass  some  words 
wi'  you." 

"Why,  of  course,"  exclaimed  Woodward, 
hooking  his  arm  in  Teague's.  "  We  '11  go  to  my 
room.  Come  !  And  after  we  get  through,  if 
you  don't  say  that  my  business  with  you  is  more 
important  than  your  business  with  me,  then  I  '11 
agree  to  carry  you  to  Hog  Mountain  on  my 
back.  Now  that 's  a  fair  and  reasonable  propo- 
sition. What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Woodward  spoke  with  unusual  warmth,  and 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  139 

there  was  a  glow  of  boyish  frankness  in  his 
tone  and  manners  that  Teague  found  it  hard  to 
resist. 

"  Well,  they  's  thes  this  much  about  it,"  he 
said.  "  My  business  is  mighty  troublesome,  an' 
yit  hit 's  got  to  be  settled  up." 

He  had  put  a  revolver  in  his  pocket  on  ac- 
count of  this  troublesome  business. 

"  So  is  mine  troublesome,"  responded  Wood- 
ward, laughing,  and  then  growing  serious.  "  It 
has  nearly  worried  me  to  death." 

Presently  they  reached  Woodward's  room, 
which  was  up  a  flight  of  stairs  near  the  corner 
of  Broad  and  Alabama  Streets.  It  was  a  very 
plain  apartment,  but  comfortably  furnished  and 
kept  with  scrupulous  neatness. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Woodward,  when  Teague 
had  seated  himself,  "  I  '11  settle  my  business, 
and  then  you  can  settle  yours."  He  had  seated 
himself  in  a  chair,  but  he  got  up,  shook  himself, 
and  walked  around  the  room  nervously.  The 
lithograph  portrait  of  a  popular  burlesque  ac- 
tress stared  brazenly  at  him  from  the  mantel- 


140  AT   TEAGUE   POTEET'S. 

piece.  He  took  this  remarkable  work  of  art, 
folded  it  across  the  middle,  and  threw  it  into 
the  grate.  "  I  've  had  more  trouble  than 
enough,"  he  went  on,  "  and  if  1  had  n't  met  you 
to-day  1  intended  to  hunt  you  up  to-morrow." 

"  In  Atlanty  ?  " 

"  No ;  on  Hog  Mountain.  Oh,  I  know  the 
risk  !  "  Woodward  exclaimed,  misinterpreting 
Teague's  look  of  surprise.  "  I  know  all  about 
that,  but  I  was  going  just  the  same.  Has  Miss 
Sis  ever  married  ? "  he  asked,  stopping  before 
Teague  and  blushing  like  a  girl. 

"  Not  less'n  it  happened  sence  last  We'n'sday, 
an'  that  hain't  noways  likely,"  replied  the  other, 
with  more  interest  than  he  had  yet  shown. 
Woodward's  embarrassment  was  more  impres- 
sive than  his  words. 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  say  it,"  he  continued, 
"  but  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you  was  this : 
Suppose  I  should  go  up  to  Hog  Mountain 
some  fine  morning,  and  call  on  you  and  say, 
as  the  fellow  did  in  the  song,  '  Old  man,  old 
man,  give  me  your  daughter,'  and  you  should 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEETS.  141 

reply,  *  Go  upstairs  and  take  her  if  you  want 
to,'  what  do  you  suppose  the  daughter  would 
say?" 

Woodward  tried  in  vain  to  give  an  air  of 
banter  to  his  words.  Teague  leaned  forward 
with  his  hands  upon  his  knees. 

"  Do  you  mean  would  Sis  marry  you  ? "  ho 
asked. 

"  That  is  just  exactly  what  I  mean,"  Wood- 
ward replied. 

The  old  mountaineer  rose  and  stretched  him- 
self, and  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  His  horri- 
ble suspicion  had  no  foundation.  He  need  not 
fly  to  the  mountains  with  Woodward's  blood 
upon  his  hands. 

"  Lem  me  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  Cap," 
he  said,  placing  his  hand  kindly  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder,  "  I  might  'low  she  would,  an' 
I  might  'low  she  would  n't ;  but  I  'm  erbleege 
to  tell  you  that  I  dunno  nothin'  'bout  that 
gal  no  more  'n  ef  I  had  n't  a-never  seed  'er. 
Wimmin  is  mighty  kuse." 

"  Yes,"  said  Woodward,  "they  are  curious." 


142  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

"  Some  days  they  er  gwine  rippitin'  aroun* 
like  the  woods  wuz  a-fire,  an'  then  ag'in  they 
er  mopin'  an'  a-moonin'  like  ever'  minnit  wuz 
a-gwine  to  be  the  nex'.  I  bin  a-studyin'  Sis 
sence  she  wa'n't  no  bigger  'n  a  skinned  rabbit, 
an'  yit  I  hain't  got  to  ABC,  let  alone  a-b 
ab,  u-b  ub.  When  a  man  lays  off  for  to  keep 
up  wi'  the  wimmin  folks,  he  kin  thes  make 
up  his  min'  that  he'll  have  to  git  in  a  dark 
corner  an'  scratch  his  head  many  a  time  when 
he  oughter  be  a-diggin'  for  his  livin'.  They  '11 
addle  'im  thereckly." 

"  Well,"  said  Woodward,  with  an  air  of  de- 
termination, "I'm  going  back  with  you  and 
hear  what  Miss  Sis  has  to  say.  Sit  down. 
Did  n't  you  say  you  wanted  to  see  me  on  busi- 
ness?" 

"  I  did  start  out  wi'  that  idee,"  said  Teague, 
slipping  into  a  chair  and  smiling  curiously, 
"  but  I  disremember  mostly  what  't  wuz  about. 
Ever'thing  is  been  a-pesterin'  me  lately,  an'  a 
man  that's  hard-headed  an'  long-legged  picks 
up  all  sorts  er  foolish  notions.  I  wish  you'd 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  143 

take  keer  this  pickle-bottle,  Cap,"  he  contin- 
ued, drawing  a  revolver  from  his  coat-tail 
pocket  and  placing  it  on  the  table.  "  I  uv 
bin  afeared  ever  sence  I  started  out  that  the 
blamed  thing  'ud  go  off  an'  far  my  jacket 
wrong-sud-outerds.  Gimme  a  gun,  an'  you'll 
gener'lly  fin'  me  somewheres  aroun' ;  but  them 
ar  clickety-cluckers  is  got  mos'  too  many  holes 
in  'em  for  to  suit  my  eyesight." 

Usually,  it  is  a  far  cry  from  Atlanta  to 
Hog  Mountain,  but  Teague  Poteet  and  Wood- 
ward lacked  the  disposition  of  loiterers.  They 
shortened  the  distance  considerably  by  striking 
through  the  country,  the  old  mountaineer  re- 
marking that  if  the  big  road  would  take  care 
of  itself  he  would  try  and  take  care  of  him- 
self. 

They  reached  Poteet's  one  afternoon,  cre- 
ating a  great  stir  among  the  dogs  and  geese 
that  were  sunning  themselves  outside  the 
yard.  Sis  had  evidently  seen  them  coming, 
and  was  in  a  measure  prepared ;  but  she 
blushed  painfully  when  Woodward  took  her 


144  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

hand,  and  ran  into  her  father's  arms  with  a 
little  hysterical  sob. 

"  Sis  did  n't  know  a  blessed  word  'bout  my 
gwine  off  to  Atlanty,"  said  Teague,  awk- 
wardly but  gleefully.  "  Did  you,  honey  ?  " 

Sis  looked  from  one  to  the  other  for  an  ex- 
planation. Woodward  was  smiling  the  broad, 
^unembarrassed  smile  of  the  typical  American 
lover,  and  Teague  was  laughing.  Suddenly 
it  occurred  to  her  that  her  father,  divining 
her  secret,  —  her  sweet,  her  bitter,  her  well- 
guarded  secret,  —  had  sought  Woodward  out 
and  begged  him  to  return.  The  thought  filled 
her  with  such  shame  and  indignation  as  only 
a  woman  can  experience.  She  seized  Teague 
by  the  arm, — 

"  Pap,  have  you  been  to  Atlanta  ?  " 

"  Yes,  honej,  an'  I  made  'as'e  to  com© 
back." 

"  Oh,  how  could  you !  How  dare  you  do 
such  a  thing ! "  she  exclaimed  passionately. 
"  I  will  never  forgive  you  as  long  as  I  live,  — • 
never ! " 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  145 

"  Why,  honey  —  " 

But  she  was  gone,  and  neither  Teague  nor 
her  mother  conld  get  a  word  of  explanation 
from  her.  Teague  coaxed  and  wheedled  and 
threatened,  and  Puss  cried  and  quarrelled ; 
but  Sis  was  obdurate.  She  shut  herself  in  her 
room  and  remained  there.  Woodward  was 
thoroughly  miserable.  He  felt  that  he  was  an 
interloper  in  some  measure,  and  yet  he  was 
convinced  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  com- 
bination of  circumstances  for  which  he  was 
in  no  wise  responsible.  He  had  never  made 
any  special  study  of  the  female  mind,  because, 
like  most  young  men  of  sanguine  temper- 
ament, he  was  convinced  that  he  thoroughly 
understood  it ;  but  he  had  not  the  remotest  con- 
ception of  the  tragic  element  which,  in  spite 
of  social  training  or  the  lack  of  it,  controls 
and  gives  strength  and  potency  to  feminine 
emotions.  Knowing  nothing  of  this,  Woodward 
knew  nothing  of  women. 

The  next  morning  he  was  stirring  early,  but 
he  saw  nothing  of  Sis.  He  saw  nothing  of  her 
10 


146  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

during  the  morning,  and  at  last,  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  disappointment,  he  saddled  his  horse 
and  made  preparations  to  go  down  the  mountain. 

"  I  reckon  it  hain't  no  use  to  ast  you  to  make 
out  your  visit,"  said  Teague,  gloomily.  "  That 's 
what  I  says  to  Puss.  I  'm  a  free  nigger  ef  Sis 
don't  beat  my  time.  You  '11  be  erbleege  to  stop 
in  Gullettsville  to-night,  an'  in  case  er  accidents 
you  thes  better  tie  this  on  your  coat." 

The  old  mountaineer  produced  a  small  piece 
of  red-woollen  string  and  looped  it  in  Wood- 
ward's button-hole. 

"  Ef  any  er  the  boys  run  up  wi'  you  an'  begin 
to  git  limber-jawed,"  Teague  continued,  "thes 
hang  your  thum'  in  that  kinder  keerless  like, 
an'  they  '11  sw'ar  by  you  thereckly.  Ef  any  of 
'em  asts  the  news,  thes  say  they  's  a  leak  in 
Sugar  Creek.  Well,  well,  well !  "  he  exclaimed, 
after  a  little  pause ;  "  hit 's  thes  like  I  tell  you, 
Wimmin  folks  is  mighty  kuse." 

When  Woodward  bade  Puss  good-by,  she 
looked  at  him  sympathetically  and  said, — 

"  Some  time,  when  you  er  passin'  by,  I  'd  be 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  147 

mighty  thankful  ef  yon  'nd  fetch  me  some 
maccaboy  snuff." 

The  young  man,  unhappy  as  he  was,  was 
almost  ready  to  accuse  Mrs.  Poteet  of  humor, 
and  he  rode  off  with  a  sort  of  grim  desire  to 
laugh  at  himself  and  the  rest  of  the  world. 
The  repose  of  the  Mountain  fretted  him ;  the 
vague  blue  mists  that  seemed  to  lift  the  valleys 
into  prominence  and  carry  the  hills  farther 
away,  tantalized  him  ;  and  the  spirit  of  spring, 
just  touching  the  great  woods  with  a  faint  sug- 
gestion of  green,  was  a  mockery.  There  was 
a  purpose  —  a  decisiveness  —  in  the  stride  of 
his  horse  that  he  envied,  and  yet  he  was 
inclined  to  resent  the  swift  amiability  with 
which  the  animal  moved  away. 

But  it  was  a  wise  steed  ;  for  when  it  came 
upon  Sis  Poteet  standing  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  it  threw  up  its  head  and  stopped.  Wood- 
ward lifted  his  hat,  and  held  it  in  his  hand. 
She  gave  him  one  little  glance,  and  then  her 
eyes  drooped. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something,"  she  said, 


148  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

pulling  a  dead  leaf  to  pieces.  Her  air  of 
humility  was  charming.  She  hesitated  a 
moment,  but  Woodward  was  too  much  aston- 
ished to  make  any  reply.  "  Are  you  very 
mad  ? "  she  asked  with  bewitching  inconse- 
quence. 

"  Why  should  I  be  mad,  Miss  Sis  ?  I  am 
glad  you  have  given  me  the  opportunity  to  ask 
your  pardon  for  coming  up  here  to  worry  you." 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  pap  —  I  mean,  if 
father  went  to  Atlanta  to  see  you,"  she  said, 
her  eyes  still  bent  upon  the  ground. 

"  He  said  he  wanted  to  see  me  on  business," 
Woodward  replied. 

"  Did  he  say  anything  about  me  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  remember.  He  never  said  any- 
thing about  his  business,  even,"  Woodward 
went  on.  "  I  told  him  about  some  of  my  little 
troubles ;  and  when  he  found  I  was  coming  back 
here,  he  seemed  to  forget  all  about  his  own  busi- 
ness. I  suppose  he  saw  that  I  would  n't  be 
much  interested  in  aa/body  else's  business  but 
my  own  just  then." 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  149 

Sis  lifted  her  head  and  looked  steadily  at 
Woodward.  A  little  flush  appeared  in  her 
cheeks,  and  mounted  to  her  forehead,  and  then 
died  away. 

"  Pap  does  n't  understand  —  I  mean  fee  does 
n't  understand  everything,  and  I  was  afraid  he 
had  —  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ? "  she  ex- 
claimed, stopping  short  and  blushing  furiously. 

"I  ask  your  pardon,"  said  the  young  man; 
"  I  was  trying  to  catch  your  meaning.  You  say 
you  were  afraid  your  father  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  afraid  now.  Don't  you  think 
the  weather  is  nice  ?  " 

Woodward  was  a  little  puzzled,  but  he  was 
not  embarrassed.  He  swung  himself  off  his 
horse  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  I  told  your  father,"  he  said,  drawing  very 
near  to  the  puzzling  creature  that  had  so  wil- 
fully eluded  him, —  "I  told  your  father  that  I 
was  coming  up  here  to  ask  his  daughter  to 
marry  me.  What  does  the  daughter  say  ?  " 

She  looked  up  in  his  face.  The  earnestness 
she  saw  there  dazzled  and  conquered  her.  Her 


]>0  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS 

head  drooped  lower,  and  she  clasped  her  hands 
together.     Pie  changed  his  tactics. 

"  Is  it  really  true,  then,  that  you  hate  me  ? " 
"  Oh  !   if  you   only   knew ! "   she   cried,   and 
with     that     Woodward     caught    her     in    his 
arms. 

An  hour  afterwards,  Teague  Poteet,  sitting  in 
his  low  piazza,  cleaning  and  oiling  his  rifle, 
heard  the  sound  of  voices  coming  from  the 
direction  of  the  Gullettsville  road.  Presently 
Sis  and  Woodward  came  in  sight.  They  walked 
slowly  along  in  the  warm  sunshine,  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  each  other.  Woodward  was  leading 
his  horse,  and  that  intelligent  animal  improved 
the  opportunity  to  nip  the  fragrant  sassafras 
buds  just  appearing  on  the  bushes.  Teague 
looked  at  the  two  young  people  from  under  the 
brim  of  his  hat  and  chuckled ;  but  when  Sis 
caught  sight  of  him,  a  little  while  after,  he  was 
rubbing  his  rifle  vigorously,  and  seemed  to  be 
oblivious  to  the  fact  that  two  young  people  were 
making  love  to  each  other  in  full  view.  But  Sis 
blushed  all  the  same,  and  the  blushes  increased 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  151 

as  she  approached  the  house,  until  Woodward 
thought  in  his  soul  that  her  rosy  shyness  was 
the  rarest  manifestation  of  loveliness  to  be 
seen  in  all  the  wide  world.  As  she  hovered  a 
moment  at  the  gate,  blushing  and  smiling,  the 
old  mountaineer  turned  the  brim  of  his  hat  back 
from  his  eyes  and  called  out  with  a  great  pre- 
tence of  formal  hospitality, — 

"  Walk  in  an'  rest  yourselves ;  thes  walk 
right  in !  Hit 's  lot's  too  soon  in  the  season  for 
the  dogs  to  bite.  Looks  to  me,  Cap,  like  you 
hain't  so  mighty  tender  wi'  that  'ar  hoss  er 
yourn.  Ef  you  uv  rid  'im  down  to  Gullettsville 
an'  back  sence  a  while  ago,  he  '11  be  a  needin' 
feed  therreckly.  Thes  come  right  in  an'  make 
yourselves  at  home." 

Woodward  laughed  sheepishly ;  but  Sis  rushed 
across  the  yard,  flung  her  arms  around  Teague's 
neck  and  fell  to  crying  with  a  vehemence  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  the  most  broken- 
hearted of  damsels.  The  grizzled  old  moun- 
taineer gathered  the  girl  to  his  bosom  and 
stroked  her  hair  gently  as  he  had  done  a  thou- 


152  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

sand  times  before.  He  looked  at  Woodward 
with  glistening  eyes. 

"  Don't  min'  Sis,  Cap.  Sis  hain't  nothin'  but 
a  little  bit  of  a  slip  of  a  gal,  an'  sence  the  day 
she  could  toddle  'roun'  an'  holler  —  good  news 
er  bad,  mad  er  glad  —  she  's  bin  a  runnin'  an' 
havin'  it  out  wi'  her  ole  pappy.  Wimmin  an' 
gals  hain't  like  we-all,  Cap ;  they  er  mighty 
kuse.  She  never  pestered  wi'  Puss  much,"  con- 
tinued Teague,  as  his  wife  came  upon  the  scene, 
armed  with  the  plaintive  air  of  slouchiness, 
which  is  at  once  the  weapon  and  shield  of 
women  who  believe  that  they  are  martyrs,  — 
"  she  never  pestered  wi'  Puss  much,  but,  cry  or 
laugh,  fight  or  frolic,  she  allers  tuck  it  out  on 
her  pore  ole  pappy." 

Puss  asked  no  questions.  She  went  and 
stood  by  Teague,  and  toyed  gently  with  one  of 
Sis' s  curls. 

"  Sis  don't  take  airter  none  er  the  Pringles," 
she  said  after  awhile,  by  way  of  explanation. 
"  They  hain't  never  bin  a  day  when  I  could  n't 
look  at  Teague  'thout  battin'  my  eyes,  an'  Ma 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  153 

use  to  say  she  'uz  thes  that  away  'bout  Pap.  I 
never  know'd  what  the  all-overs  wuz  tell  thes 
about  a  hour  before  me  an'  Teague  wuz  married. 
We  uz  thes  about  ready  for  to  go  an'  face  the 
preacher,  when  Ma  comes  a-rushin'  in  —  an'  she 
won't  never  be  no  paler  when  she  's  laid  out  than 
she  wuz  right  that  minnit.  <  In  the  name  er  the 
Lord,  Ma,  is  you  seed  a  ghost  ? '  s'  I.  *  Puss ! ' 
se'  she,  *  the  cake  hain't  riz ! '  I  thes  tell  you 
what,  folks,  I  like  to  a  went  through  the  floor, — 
that  I  did!" 

At  this  Sis  looked  up  and  laughed,  and  they  all 
laughed  except  Puss,  who  eyed  Woodward  with 
an  air  of  faint  curiosity,  and  dryly  remarked,  — 

"  I  reckon  you  hain't  brung  me  my  macca- 
boy  snuff.  I  lay  me  an'  my  snuff  wa'n't  in 
your  min'.  'Let  the  old  hen  cluck,'  ez  the 
sparrer-hawk  said  when  he  courted  the  pullet. 
Well,"  she  continued,  smiling  with  genuine 
satisfaction  as  she  saw  that  Woodward  no 
more  than  half  relished  the  comparison,  "  I 
better  be  seein'  about  dinner.  01'  folks  like 
me  can't  live  on  love." 


154  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

The  days  that  followed  were  very  happy 
ones  for  the  two  young  people  —  and  for  the 
two  old  people  for  that  matter.  Teague  en- 
joyed the  situation  immensely.  He  would 
watch  the  young  lovers  from  afar,  and  then  go 
off  by  himself  and  laugh  heartily  at  his  own 
conceits.  He  was  very  proud  that  Sis  was 
going  to  marry  Somebody, —  a  very  broad  term 
as  the  old  mountaineer  employed  it.  At  night 
when  they  all  sat  around  the  fire  (spring  on 
Hog  Mountain  bore  no  resemblance  to  sum- 
mer), Teague  gave  eager  attention  to  Wood- 
ward's stories  and  laughed  delightedly  at  his 
silliest  jokes. 

If  Teague  was  pleased  with  Woodward, 
he  was  astounded  at  Sis.  She  was  no  longer 
the  girl  that  her  surroundings  seemed  to  call 
for.  She  was  a  woman,  and  a  very  delightful 
one.  From  the  old  scholar  whom  fate  or  cir- 
cumstance had  sent  to  preside  over  the  Gul- 
lettsville  Academy,  she  had  caught  something 
of  the  flavor  and  grace  of  cultivation, —  a 
gentle  dignity,  leaning  always  to  artlessness, 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  155 

and  a  quick  appreciation,  which  was  in  itself  a 
rare  accomplishment. 

The  day  for  the  wedding  was  set,  and  Wood- 
ward went  his  way  to  Atlanta.  He  had  urged 
that  the  ceremony  be  a  very  quiet  one ;  but 
Teague  had  different  views,  and  he  beat  down 
all  opposition. 

"  Why,  good  Lord,  Cap ! "  he  exclaimed, 
"  what  'ud  the  boys  say  ?  Poteet's  gal  married 
an'  no  stools*  give  out !  No,  siree !  Not 
much.  We  hain't  that  stripe  up  here,  Cap. 
We  hain't  got  no  quality  ways,  but  we  allers 
puts  on  the  pot  when  comp'ny  comes.  Me 
an'  Sis  an'  Puss  hain't  had  many  weddin's 
'mongst  us,  an'  we  're  thes  a-gwine  to  try  an' 
put  the  bes*  foot  foremos'.  Oh,  no,  Cap ! 
You  fetch  your  frien's  an'  we  '11  fetch  our'n, 
an'  ef  the  house  hain't  roomy  enough,  bless 
you !  the  woods  is." 

When  Hog  Mountain  heard  the  news,  which 
it  did  by  special  messenger,  sent  from  house 
to  house  with  little  pink  missives  written  by 

*  Invitations. 


156  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

Sis,  it  was  as  proud  as  Teague  himself.  Fat 
Mrs.  Hightower  laid  aside  her  spectacles  when 
the  invitation  was  translated  to  her,  and  re- 
marked,— 

"They  hain't  nobody  on  the  face  er  the 
yeth  good  enough  fer  Sis,  but  that  air  feller 's 
got  the  looks  an'  the  spunk.  I'll  set  in  this 
very  day  an'  hour,  an'  I'll  bake  Sis  a  cake 
that  '11  make  the'r  eyes  water."  And  so  it 
went.  Everybody  on  Hog  Mountain  had  some 
small  contributions  to  make. 

The  wedding,  however,  was  not  as  boister- 
ous as  the  boys  proposed  to  make  it.  They 
had  their  frolic,  to  be  sure,  as  Sid  Parmalee 
or  Tip  Watson  will  tell  you,  but  an  incident 
occurred  which  took  the  edge  off  their  enjoy- 
ment, and  gave  them  the  cue  of  soberness. 

Two  of  Woodward's  friends  —  young  men 
from  Atlanta  —  bore  him  company  to  Hog 
Mountain.  At  Gullettsville  they  fell  in  with 
Uncle  Jake  Norris,  at  all  times  a  jovial  and 
companionable  figure. 

"  Roundabout    man,    roundabout    way,"     re- 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  157 

marked  Uncle  Jake,  by  way  of  explaining  his 
presence  in  Gullettsville.  "  My  house  is  away 
an'  beyan'  frum  Poteet's,  but  I  says  to  myself, 
s'  I,  in  obejunce  to  the  naked  demands  of  the 
law  I  '11  go  this  day  an'  git  me  a  jug  'er  licker 
that 's  bin  stomped  by  the  govunment,  an'  hide 
it  an'  my  wickedness,  ez  you  may  say,  in 
Teague's  hoss-stable.  Yes,  frien's,  them  wuz 
the  words.  *  Let  the  licker  be  stomped  by 
the  govunment  for  the  sakes  of  the  young 
chap,'  s'  I,  '  an'  I  '11  hide  the  jug  along  er  my 
wickedness  in  Teague's  hoss-stable.'  So  then, 
frien's,  yess  be  a  sojourneyin',an'  ef  you  feel  the 
needance  er  somethin'  quick  an'  strong  for  to 
brace  you  for  enjorance,  make  your  way  to 
the  lot,  an'  feel  behin'  the  stable-door  —  an' 
watch  out  for  the  kickin'  mule  !  I  give  you 
my  intentionals  cle'r  an*  clean.  What  does 
St.  Paul  say  ?  « Ef  you  can't  do  good  by  slip- 
pance,  do  it  by  stealth.' " 

They  journeyed  along  as  rapidly  as  the  nature 
of  the  mountain  road  would  permit ;  but  before 
they  reached  Poteet's  the  shadows  of  twilight 


158  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

began  to  deepen.  The  road,  like  most  mountain 
roads,  wound  itself  painfully  about.  At  one 
point  they  were  within  a  short  half-mile  of  Po- 
teet's,  but  a  towering  wall  of  rock  barred  their 
approach.  The  road,  accommodating  itself  to 
circumstances,  allowed  the  towering  wall  to 
drive  it  three  miles  out  of  the  way.  Uncle  Jake 
Norris,  turning  readily  to  reminiscences,  con- 
nected the  precipitous  shelf  with  many  of  the 
mysterious  disappearances  that  had  at  various 
times  occurred  in  army  and  revenue  circles. 

"  Natur'  built  it,"  he  said  lightly,  "  an'  a  jay- 
bird showed  it  to  the  boys.  Teague,  up  thar,  he 
'lowed  that  a  man  wi'  gray  eyes  an'  a  nimble 
han'  could  git  on  that  rock  an'  lay  flat  of  his 
belly  an'  disembowel  a  whole  army.  Them  wuz 
his  words, —  disembowel  a  whole  army." 

While  Uncle  Jake  was  speaking,  the  trav- 
ellers had  passed  beyond  the  wall ; ,  but  the 
declivity  on  their  left  was  still  too  steep  to  ac- 
commodate the  highway,  and  so  they  rode  along 
with  the  shadows  of  night  on  one  side  of  them 
and  pale  symptoms  of  the  day  on  the  other. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  159 

Suddenly  a  thin  stream  of  fire,  accompanied 
by  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle,  shot  out  of  the 
side  of  the  mountain  straight  at  Woodward,  and 
seemed,  as  one  of  his  companions  said  after- 
wards, to  pass  through  him.  His  horse  shied 
with  a  tremendous  lurch,  and  Woodward  fell  to 
the  ground. 

"  He  is  shot! "  cried  one  of  the  young  men. 

"What  devil's  work  is  this?"  exclaimed 
Uncle  Jake.  "  Cap,  you  ain't  hurt,  is  you  ? " 

Receiving  no  reply,  for  Woodward  was 
stunned  into  semi-unconsciousness,  Uncle  Jake 
addressed  himself  to  the  bushes, — 

"  Come  forth,"  he  cried.  "  Jestify  this 
deed ! " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  but  not  a 
moment's  inaction.  Uncle  Jake  leaped  from 
his  horse,  and,  telling  the  frightened  young  men 
to  look  after  Woodward,  ran  up  the  mountain 
side  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  placed  his  hands  to  his 
mouth,  and  hallooed  three  times  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. Then  he  heard  Poteet's  dogs  bark,  and 
he  hallooed  again.  This  time  he  was  answered 


160  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

from  above,  and  he  turned  and  ran  back  to 
where  he  left  Woodward. 

When  he  got  there  he  beheld  a  sight  and 
"heard  words  that  made  his  blood  run  cold. 
Woodward  was  still  lying  upon  the  ground,  but 
by  his  side  was  kneeling  a  gaunt  and  hollow- 
eyed  woman.  Her  thin  gray  hair  hung  loose 
upon  her  shoulders  and  about  her  eyes,  and  the 
ragged  sleeves  of  her  gown  fluttered  wildly  as 
she  flung  her  bony  arms  in  the  air.  She  was 
uttering  loud  cries. 

"  Oh,  Lordy  !  it 's  little  Ab !  I  uv  done  killed 
little  Ab  over  ag'in!  Oh,  my  little  Ab!  It's 
your  pore  ole  Mammy,  honey !  Oh,  Mister ! 
Make  little  Ab  wake  up  an'  look  at  his  pore  ole 
Mammy !  " 

The  two  young  men  from  Atlanta  were  par- 
alyzed with  horror.  When  Uncle  Jake  Norris 
ran  up  the  mountain  to  alarm  Poteet,  the  witch- 
like  figure  of  the  woman  sprang  from  the  bushes 
and  fell  upon  Woodward  with  a  loud  outcry. 
The  whole  occurrence,  so  strange,  so  unnatural, 
and  so  unexpected,  stripped  the  young  men  of 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS.  161 

their  power  of  reasoning ;  and  if  the  rocks  had 
opened  and  fiery  flames  issued  forth,  their  as- 
tonishment and  perplexity  and  terror  could 
have  been  no  greater. 

But  if  they  had  been  acquainted  with  the  his- 
tory of  this  wild-eyed  woman,  —  if  they  had 
known  that  for  weeks  she  had  been  wandering 
over  the  mountain  bereft  of  reason,  and  seeking 
an  opportunity  to  avenge  with  her  own  hands 
the  murder  of  Ab  Bonner,  her  son, — they 
would  have  been  overcome  by  pity.  Uncle  Jake 
Norris  understood  at  once  that  Ab  Bonner's 
mother  had  shot  Woodward,  and  he  forgot  to  be 
merciful. 

"  Woe  unto  you,  woman,  ef  you  have  done 
this  deed!  Woe  unto  you  an'  your'n,  Rachel 
Bonner,  ef  you  have  murdered  this  innocent ! " 

"  That  he  wuz  innocent ! "  exclaimed  the 
woman,  swaying  back  and  forth  and  waving  her 
hands  wildly.  "  The  unborn  babe  wa'  n't  no  in- 
nocenter  than  little  Ab ! " 

"  Woe    unto  you,  Sister    Bonner ! "     Uncle 
Jake  went  on,  examining  Woodward  and  speak 
11 


162  AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S. 

ing  more  calmly  when  he  found  him  breathing 
regularly.  "Woe  unto  you  and  shame  upon 
you,  Sister  Bonner,  to  do  this  deed  of  onjesti- 
fiable  homicide,  ez  I  may  say.  Let  min'  an' 
flesh  rankle,  but  shed  no  blood." 

"Oh,  my  little  Ab!  I  uv  kilt  'im  ag'in!" 
"  You  may  well  sesso,  Sister  Rachel  Bonner," 
said  Uncle  Jake,  turning  Woodward  over  and 
examining  him  with  the  crude  skill  of  an  old 
soldier ;  "  you  may  well  sesso.  Drap  down 
where  you  is,  an'  call  on  the  Lord  not  to  give 
you  over  to  a  reprobate  min'  for  to  do  the  things 
that  are  unconvenient,  ez  St.  Paul  says.  Let 
tribulation  work  patience,  lest  you  git  forsook  of 
hope,  Sister  Rachel  Bonner.  Come,  Cap,"  he 
went  on,  addressing  himself  to  Woodward, 
"  Teague  '11  be  a-drappin'  on  us  thereckly,  an' 
it  twon't  never  do  in  the  roun'  worl'  for  to  be 
a-makin'  faces  at  'im  frum  the  groun'.  Roust 
up,  roust  up." 

Woodward  did  rouse  up.  In  fact,  his  uncon- 
sciousness was  only  momentary;  but  he  had 
been  making  a  vain  effort  jbo  trace  his  surround 


AT   TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  163 

ings,  disordered  as  they  were  by  the  wild  cries 
of  the  woman,  to  a  reasonable  basis. 

By  the  time  he  had  been  helped  to  his  feet, 
and  had  discovered  that  the  bullet  from  Mrs. 
Bonner's  rifle  had  merely  grazed  the  fleshy  part 
of  his  shoulder,  Teague  and  a  number  of  his 
friends  had  arrived  upon  the  scene.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  said,  nothing  to  be  done,  except  to 
move  up  the  mountain  to  Poteet's. 

"  Ah,  pore  woman ! "  exclaimed  Uncle  Jake. 
"  Pore  mizerbul  creetur !  Come  wi'  us,  Sister 
Rachel  Bonner,  come  wi'  us.  Ther's  a  warm 
place  at  Teague's  h'a'th  fer  sech  ez  you." 

The  woman  followed  readily,  keeping  close 
to  Woodward.  To  her  distracted  eyes  he  took 
the  shape  of  her  murdered  son.  Poteet  was 
strangely  reticent.  His  tremendous  stride  car- 
ried him  ahead  of  the  horses,  and  he  walked 
with  his  head  held  down  as  if  reflecting.  Once 
he  turned  and  spoke  to  Parmalee,  — 

"  Oh,  Sid  !  " 

"Ah-yi?" 

"  Thes  s'posen  it  had  'a'  bin  a  man?" 


164  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Man ! " 

It  is  not  necessary  to  describe  the  marriage  of 
Sis  and  Woodward,  nor  to  recite  here  the  beau- 
tiful folk-songs  that  served  for  the  wedding 
music.  As  Mrs.  Poteet  remarked  after  it  was 
all  over,  "  they  wer'  n't  a  bobble  from  beginnin' 
to  een' ; "  and  when  the  wedding  party  started 
down  the  mountain  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning  to  take  conveyances  at  Gullettsville 
for  the  railroad  station  thirty  miles  away,  Uncle 
Jake  Norris  was  sober  enough  to  stand  squarely 
on  his  feet  as  he  held  Sis's  hand. 

"  Ez  St.  Paul  says,  I  prophesy  in  perportion 
to  my  faith.  You  all  is  obleege  to  be  happy. 
Take  keer  of  thish  'ere  gal,  Cap ! " 

Teague  Poteet  went  down  the  mountain  a 
little  way,  and  returned  after  awhile  like  a  man 
in  a  dream.  He  paused  at  a  point  that  over- 
looked the  valley  and  took  off  his  hat.  The 
morning  breeze,  roused  from  its  sleep,  stirred 
his  hair.  The  world,  plunging  swiftly  and 
steadily  through  its  shadow,  could  not  rid  itself 
of  a  star  that  burned  and  quivered  in  the  east. 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  165 

It  seemed  to  be  another  world  toward  which  Si» 
was  going. 

An  old  woman,  gray-haired,  haggard,  and 
sallow,  who  had  been  drawn  from  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Hog  Mountain  by  the  managers  of  the 
Atlanta  Cotton  Exposition  to  aid  in  illustrating 
the  startling  contrasts  that  the  energy  and  prog- 
ress of  man  have  produced,  had  but  one  vivid 
remembrance  of  that  remarkable  display.  She 
had  but  one  story  to  tell,  and,  after  the  Exposi- 
tion was  over,  she  rode  forty  miles  on  horse- 
back, in  the  mud  and  rain,  to  tell  it  at  Teague 
Poteet's. 

"  I  wish  I  may  die,"  she  exclaimed,  flinging 
the  corners  of  her  shawl  back  over  her  shoul- 
ders, and  dipping  her  clay  pipe  in  the  glowing 
embers,  —  "I  wish  I  may  die  ef  I  ever  see  sech 
gangs  an'  gangs  an'  gangs  of  folks,  an'  ef  I 
git  the  racket  out'n  my  head  by  next  Chris'mas, 
I  '11  be  mighty  lucky.  They  sot  me  over  ag'in 
the  biggest  fuss  they  could  pick  out,  an'  gimme 
a  pa'r  er  cotton  kyards.  Here  's  what  kin  kyard 


166  AT  TEAGUE  POTEETS. 

when  she  gits  her  ban'  in,  an'  I  b'leeve'n  my 
soul  I  kyarded  'nuff  bats  to  thicken  all  the 
quilts  betwix'  this  an'  Californy.  The  folks, 
they  'ud  come  an'  stan'  an*  star',  an'  then  they 
'ud  go  some'r's  else ;  an'  then  new  folks  'ud 
come,  an'  stan',  an'  star',  an'  go  some'r's  else. 
They  wuz  jewlarkers  thar  frum  ever'where's, 
an'  they  lookt  like  they  wuz  too  brazen  to  live 
skacely.  Not  that  I  keer'd.  No,  bless  you! 
Not  when  folks  is  a-plumpin'  down  the  cash 
money.  Not  me !  No,  siree !  I  wuz  a-scttin' 
thar  one  day  a-kyardin'  away,  a-kyardin'  away, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  some  un  retched  down  an' 
grabbed  me  'roun'  the  neck,  an'  bussed  me  right 
here  on  the  jaw.  Now,  I  hain't  a-tellin'  you  no 
lie,  I  like  to  'a'  fainted.  I  lookt  up,  an'  who  do 
you  reckon  it  wuz  ?  " 

"  I  bet  a  hoss,"  said  Teague,  dryly,  "  that  Sis 
wa'  n't  fur  from  thar  when  that  bussin'  wuz  a- 
gwine  on." 

"  Who  should  it  be  but  Sis ! "  exclaimed  the 
old  woman,  leaning  forward  eagerly  as  she 
spoke.  "  Who  else  but  Sis  wuz  a-gwine  to  grab 


AT  TEAGUE  POTEET'S.  167 

me  an'  gimme  a  buss  right  here  on  the  jaw 
a-frontin'  of  all  them  jewlarkers  ?  When  I  lookt 
up  an'  seen  it  twuz  Sis,  I  thought  in  my  soul 
she  'uz  the  purtiest  creetur  I  ever  laid  eyes  on. 
'  Well,  the  Lord  love  you,  Sis,'  s'  I, '  whar'  on  the 
face  er  the  yeth  did  you  drap  frum?'  s'  I. 
I  ketched  'er  by  the  arm  an'  helt  'er  off,  an' 
s'  I, <  Ef  I  don't  have  a  tale  to  tell  when  I  git 
home,  no  'oman  never  had  none,'  s'  I.  She 
took  an'  buss'd  me  right  frontin*  'if  all  them 
jewlarkers,  an'  airter  she  'uz  gone,  I  sot  down 
an'  had  a  good  cry.  I  sot  right  flat  whar'  I 
wuz,  an'  had  a  good  cry." 

And  then  the  old  woman  fell  to  crying  softly 
at  the  remembrance  of  it,  and  those  who  had 
listened  to  her  story  cried  with  her.    And  nar-  ^ 
row  as  their  lives  were,  the  memory  of  the  girl  > 
seemed  to    sweeten    and    inspire  all  who  sat  \ 
around  the  wide  hearth  that  night  at  Teague 
Poteet's. 


BLUE    DAVE. 


BLUE    DAVE. 


i. 

THE  atmosphere  of  mystery  that  surrounds 
the  Kendrick  Place  in  Putnam  County  is  illusive, 
of  course ;  but  the  illusion  is  perfect.  The  old 
house,  standing  a  dozen  yards  from  the  roadside, 
is  picturesque  with  the  contrivances  of  neglect 
and  decay.  Through  a  door  hanging  loose  upon 
its  hinges  the  passer-by  may  behold  the  evi- 
dences of  loneliness  and  gloom,  —  the  very  em- 
bodiment of  desolation,  —  a  void,  a  silence,  that  */ 
is  almost  portentous.  The  roof,  with  its  crop 
of  quaint  gables,  in  which  proportion  has  been 
sacrificed  to  an  effort  to  attain  architectural  live- 
liness, is  covered  with  a  greenish-gray  moss  on 
the  north  side,  and  has  long  been  given  over  to 
decay  on  all  sides.  The  cat-squirrels  that  occa- 


172  BLUE  DAVE. 

sionally  scamper  across  the  crumbling  shingles 
have  as  much  as  they  can  do,  with  all  their  nim- 
bleness,  to  find  a  secure  foothold.  The  huge 
wooden  columns  that  support  the  double  veranda 
display  jagged  edges  at  top  and  bottom,  and  no 
longer  make  even  a  pretence  of  hiding  their 
grim  hollowness.  The  well,  hospitably  placed 
within  arm's  reach  of  the  highway,  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  dead  and  buried  congregation  that  long 
ago  met  and  worshipped  at  Bethesda  meeting- 
house, is  stripped  of  windlass,  chain,  and  bucket. 
All  the  outhouses  have  disappeared,  if  they  ever 
had  an  existence ;  and  nothing  remains  to  tell 
the  story  of  a  flourishing  era,  save  a  fig-tree 
which  is  graciously  green  and  fruitful  in  season. 
This  fig-tree  has  grown  to  an  extraordinary 
height,  and  covers  a  large  area  with  its  canopy 
of  limbs  and  leaves,  giving  a  sort  of  Oriental 
flavor  to  the  illusion  of  mystery  and  antiquity. 
It  is  said  of  this  fig-tree  that  sermons  have  been 
preached  and  marriages  solemnized  under  its 
wide-spreading  branches;  and  there  is  a  vague 
tradition  to  the  effect  that  a  duel  was  once 


BLUE  DAVE.  173 

fought  in  its  shadow  by  some  of  the  hot-bloods. 
But  no  harm  will  come  of  respectfully  but  firmly 
doubting  this  tradition ;  for  it  is  a  fact,  common 
to  both  memory  and  observation,  that  duels, 
even  in  the  old  days,  when  each  and  every  one 
of  us  was  the  pink  of  chivalry  and  the  soul  of 
honor,  were  much  rarer  than  the  talk  of  them. 
Nevertheless,  the  confession  may  be  made  that 
without  such  a  tradition  a  fig-tree  surrounded 
by  so  many  evidences  of  neglect  and  decay 
would  be  a  tame  affair  indeed. 

The  house,  with  its  double  veranda,  its  tall 
chimneys,  and  its  curious  collection  of  gables, 
was  built  as  late  as  1836  by  young  Felix  Ken- 
drick,  in  order,  as  Grandsir  Kendrick  declared, 
to  show  that  "  some  folks  was  as  good  as  other- -v'' 
folks."  Whether  Felix  succeeded  in  this  or  not, 
it  is  impossible  to  gather  from  either  local  his- 
tory or  tradition ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
house  attracted  attention,  for  its  architectural 
liveliness  has  never  to  this  day  been  duplicated 
in  that  region.  In  those  days  the  Kendrick  fam- 
ily was  a  new  one,  so  to  speak,  but  ambitious. 


174  BLUE  DAVE. 

Grandsir  Kendrick  —  a  fatal  title  in  itself  —  was 
a  hatter  by  trade,  who  had  come  to  Georgia  in 
search  of  a  precarious  livelihood.  He  obtained 
permission  to  build  him  a  little  log  hut  by  the 
side  of  a  running  stream  ;  and,  for  a  year  or  two, 
people  going  along  the  road  could  hear  the  snap 
and  twang  of  his  bow-string  as  he  whipped  wool 
or  rabbit  fur  into  shape.  Some  said  he  was  from 
North  Carolina ;  others  said  he  was  from  Connec- 
ticut ;  but  whether  from  one  State  or  the  other, 
what  should  a  hatter  do  away  off  in  the  woods  in 
Putnam  County  ?  Grandsir  Kendrick,  who  was 
shrewd,  close-fisted,  and  industrious,  did  what 
any  sensible  man  would  have  done ;  he  became 
an  overseer.  In  this  business,  which  required  no 
capital,  he  developed  considerable  executive  abil- 
ity. The  plantations  he  had  charge  of  paid  large 
profits  to  their  owners,  and  he  found  his  good 
management  in  demand.  He  commanded  a  large 
salary,  and  saved  money.  This  money  he  in- 
vested in  negroes,  buying  one  at  a  time  and  hir- 
ing them  out.  He  finally  came  to  be  the  owner 
of  seven  or  eight  stout  field  hands ;  whereupon 


BLUE  DAVE.  175 

he  bought  two  hundred  acres   of  choice  land 
and  set  himself  up  as  a  patriarch. 

Grandsir  Kendrick  kept  to  his  sober  ways, 
continued  his  good  management,  and,  in  the 
midst  of  much  shabbiness,  continued  to  put 
aside  money  in  the  shape  of  negroes.  He  also 
reared  a  son  who  contrived  somehow  to  have 
higher  notions  than  his  father.  These  notions 
of  young  Felix  Kendrick  were  confirmed  and 
enlarged  by  his  marriage  to  the  daughter  of  a 
Methodist  circuit-rider.  This  young  lady  had 
been  pinched  by  poverty  often  enough  to  know 
the  value  of  economy,  while  the  position  of  her 
father  had  given  her  advantages  which  the  most 
fortunate  young  ladies  of  that  day  might  have 
envied.  In  short,  Mrs.  Felix  turned  out  to  be 
a  very  superior  woman  in  all  respects.  She  was 
proud  as  well  as  pretty,  and  managed  to  hold 
her  own  with  the  element  which  Grandsir  Ken- 
drick sometimes  dubiously  referred  to  as  "the 
quality."  The  fact  that  Mrs.  Felix's  mother  was 
a  Barksdale  probably  had  something  to  do  with 
her  energy  and  tact ;  but  whatever  the  cause  of 


176  BLUE  DAVE. 

her  popularity  may  have  been,  Grandsir  Ken- 
drick  was  very  proud  of  his  son's  wife.  He  had 
no  sympathy  with,  and  no  part  in,  her  high  no- 
tions ;  but  their  manifestation  afforded  him  the 
spectacle  of  an  experience  entirely  foreign  to 
his  own.  Here  was  his  son's  wife  stepping  high, 
and  compelling  his  son  to  step  high.  So  far  as 
Grandsir  Kendrick  was  concerned,  however,  it 
was  merely  a  spectacle.  To  the  day  of  his 
death,  he  never  ceased  to  higgle  over  a  thrip,  and 
it  was  his  constant  boast  that  in  his  own  ex- 
perience it  had  always  been  convenient  to  give 
prudence  the  upper  hand  of  pride. 

In  1850  the  house  was  not  showing  many 
signs  of  decay,  but  young  Mrs.  Felix  had  become 
the  Widow  Kendrick,  her  daughter  Kitty  had 
grown  to  be  a  beautiful  young  woman,  and  her 
son  Felix  was  a  lad  of  remarkable  promise. 
The  loss  of  her  husband  was  a  great  blow  to 
Mrs.  Kendrick.  With  all  her  business  qualities, 
her  affection  for  her  family  and  her  home  was 
strongly  marked,  and  her  husband  stood  first  as 
the  head  and  centre  of  each.  Felix  Kendrick 


BLUE  DAVE.  177 

died  in  the  latter  part  of  November,  1849,  and 
his  widow  made  him  a  grave  under  the  shadow 
of  a  tree  he  had  planted  when  a  boy,  and  in  full 
view  of  her  window.  The  obsequies  were  very 
simple.  A  prayer  was  said,  and  a  song  was 
sung  ;  that  was  all.  But  it  was  understood  that 
the  funeral  sermon  would  be  preached  at  the 
house  by  Mrs.  Kendrick's  brother,  who  was  on 
his  way  home  from  China,  where  he  had  been 
engaged  in  converting  (to  use  a  neighborhood 
phrase)  the  "  squinch-eyed  heathen." 

The  weeks  went  by,  and  the  missionary 
brother  returned ;  and  one  Sunday  morning  in 
February  it  was  given  out  at  Bethesda  that  "  on 
the  first  Sabbath  after  the  second  Tuesday  in 
March,  the  funeral  sermon  of  Brother  Felix 
Kendrick  will  be  preached  at  the  house  by 
Brother  Garwood."  On  the  morning  of  this 
particular  Sunday,  which  was  selected  because 
it  did  not  conflict  with  the  services  of  the  Be- 
thesda congregation,  two  neighbors  met  in  the 
forks  of  the  public  road  that  leads  to  Rockville. 
Each  had  come  from  a  different  direction.  One- 


178  BLUE  DAVE. 

was  riding  and  one  was  walking ;  and  both  were 
past  the  middle  time  of  life. 

"  Well  met,  Brother  Roach ! "  exclaimed  the 
man  on  horseback. 

"  You  've  took  the  words  from  my  mouth, 
Brother  Brannum.  I  hope  you  are  well.  I'm 
peart  myself,  but  not  as  peart  as  I  thought  I 
was,  bekaze  I  find  that  the  two  or  three  miles 
to  come  is  sticking  in  my  craw." 

"  Ah,  when  it  comes  to  that,  Brother  Roach," 
said  the  man  on  horseback,  "  you  and  me  can  be 
one  another's  looking-glass.  Look  on  me  and 
you  '11  see  what  time  has  done  for  you." 

"  Not  so,  Brother  Brannum  !  Not  so  ! "  ex- 
claimed the  other.  "There's  some  furrows  on 
your  forrud,  and  a  handful  of  bird-tracks  below 
your  eyes  that  would  ill  become  me;  and  I'm 
plumper  in  the  make-up,  you  '11  allow." 

"Yes,  yes,  Brother  Johnny  Roach,"  said 
Brother  Brannum,  frowning  a  little ;  "  but  what 
of  that  ?  Death  takes  no  time  to  feel  for  wrin- 
kles and  furrows,  and  nuther  does  plumpness 
stand  in  the  way.  Look  at  Brother  Felix  Ken- 


BLUE  DAVE.  179 

drick,  —  took  off  in  the  very  pulse  and  power 
of  his  prime,  you  may  say.  Yet,  Providence 
permitting,  I  am  to  hark  to  his  funeral  to- 
day." 

"  Why,  so  am  I,  — so  am  I,"  exclaimed  Brother 
Roach.  "  We  seem  to  agree,  Brother  Brannum, 
like  the  jay-bird  and  the  joree,  —  one  in  the  tree 
and  t'  other  on  the  ground." 

Brother  Brannum's  grim  sense  of  superiority 
showed  itself  in  his  calm  smile. 

"  Yet  I  '11  not  deny,"  continued  Brother  Roach, 
flinging  his  coat,  which  he  had  been  carrying  on 
his  arm,  across  his  shoulder,  "that  sech  dis- 
courses go  ag'in  the  grain.  It  frets  me  in  the 
mind  for  to  hear  what  thundering  great  men  * 
folks  git  to  be  arter  they  are  dead,  though  I  hope 
we  may  both  follow  suit,  Brother  Brannum." 

"  But  how,  Brother  Johnny  Roach  ? " 

"  Why,  by  the  grace  of  big  discourses,  Brother 
Brannum.  There 's  many  a  preacher  could  close 
down  the  Bible  on  his  hankcher  and  make  our 
very  misdeeds  smell  sweet  as  innocence.  It's 
all  in  the  lift  of  the  eyebrow,  and  the  gesticures 


180  BLUE  DAVE. 

of  the  hand.  So  old  Neighbor  Harper  says,  and 
he's  been  a  lawyer  and  a  schoolmaster  in  his 
day  and  time." 

"  Still,"  said  Brother  Brannum,  as  if  acknowl- 
edging the  arguments,  "  I  think  Sister  Kendrick 
is  jestified  in  her  desires." 

/''  "  Oh,  yes,- — oh,  yes!"  replied  Brother  Roach, 
heartily;  "none  more  so.  Felix  Kendrick's 
ways  is  in  good  shape  for  some  preacher  wi'  a 
glib  tongue.  Felix  was  a  good  man ;  he  wanted 
his  just  dues,  but  not  if  to  take  them  would 
hurt  a  man.  He  was  neighborly ;  who  more 
so?  And,  sir,  when  you  got  to  rastlin*  wi' 
trouble,  he  'd  find  you  and  fetch  you  out.  I 
only  hope  the  Chinee  preacher  '11  be  jedgmatical 
enough  for  to  let  us  off  wi'  the  simple  truth." 

"They  say,"  said  Brother  Brannum,  "that 
he's  a  man  full  of  grace  and  fire." 

"  Well,  sir,",  said  Johnny  Roach,  "  if  he  but 
makes  me  disremember  that  I  left  the  bay  mar' 
at  home,  I'll  thank  him  kindly." 

"  Mercy,  Brother  Roach,"  exclaimed  Brother 
Brannum,  taking  this  as  a  neighborly  hint, 


BLUE  DAVE.  181 

"  mount  up  here  and  rest  yourself,  whilst  I 
stretch  my  legs  along  this  level  piece  of 
ground." 

"  I  'd  thank  you  kindly,  Brother  Brannum,  if 
you  wouldn't  so  misjudge  me.  It's  my  will  to 
walk ;  but  if  I  git  my  limbs  sot  to  the  saddle 
here  and  now,  they'd  ache  and  crack  might'ly 
when  next  I  called  upon  'em.  I  '11  take  the  will 
for  the  deed,  Brother  Brannum." 

Thus  these  neighbors  jogged  along  to  Felix 
Kendrick's  funeral.  They  found  a  great  crowd 
ahead  of  them  when  they  got  there,  though  they 
were  not  too  late  for  the  services ;  but  the  house 
was  filled  with  sympathetic  men  and  women, 
and  those  who  came  late  were  compelled  to  find 
such  accommodations  as  the  yard  afforded ;  and 
these  accommodations  were  excellent  in  their 
way,  for  there  was  the  cool,  green  grass  under 
the  trees,  and  there  were  the  rustic  seats  in  the 
shadow  of  the  fig-tree  of  which  mention  has 
been  made. 

Coming  together,  Brother  Brannum  and 
Brother  Eoach  stayed  together;  and  they  soon 


182  BLUE  DAVE. 

found  themselves  comfortably  seated  under  the 
fig-tree,  —  a  point  of  view  from  which  they  could 
observe  everything  that  was  going  on.  Brother 
Brannum,  who  was  a  pillar  of  Bethesda  church 
and  extremely  officious  withal,  seemed  to  regret 
that  he  had  not  arrived  soon  enough  to  find 
a  place  in  the  house  near  the  preacher,  but 
Brother  Roach  appeared  to  congratulate  himself 
that  he  had  been  crowded  out  of  ear-shot. 

"  We  can  set  here,"  he  declared  in  great  good- 
humor,  "  and  hear  the  singing,  and  then  whirl 
in  and  preach  each  man  his  own  sermon.  I 
know  better  than  the  furrin  preacher  what  'd  be 
satisfactual  to  Felix  Kendrick.  I  see  George 
Denham  sailing  in  and  out  and  flying  around ; 
and  if  the  pinch  comes,  as  come  it  must,  Brother 
Brannum,  we  can  up  and  ast  George  for  to 
fetch  us  sech  reports  as  a  hongry  man  can 
stomach." 

Brother  Brannum  frowned  heavily,  but  made 
no  response.  Presently  Brother  Roach  beck- 
oned to  the  young  man  whom  he  had  called 
George  Denham.  "Howdy,  George!  How  is 


BLUE  DAVE.  183 

Kitty  Kendrick?  Solemn  as  the  season  is, 
George,  I  lay  't  would  be  wrong  for  to  let 
Beauty  pine." 

The  young  man  suppressed  a  smile,  and  raised 
his  hands  in  protest. 

"  Uncle  Johnny !  to  joke  me  at  such  a  time ! 
I  shall  go  to-morrow  and  cut  your  mill-race, 
and  you  will  never  know  who  did  it." 

"  Ah,  George !  if  death  changes  a  man  no 
more'n  they  say  it  does,  little  does  Felix  Ken- 
drick need  to  be  holp  by  these  dismal  takings- 
on.  From  first  to  last,  he  begrudged  no  man 
his  banter.  But  here  we  are  and  yan's  the 
preacher.  The  p'int  wi'  me,  George,  is,  how  kin 
we-all  setting  on  the  back  seats  know  when  the 
preacher  gits  to  his  l  amen,'  onless  his  expound- 
ance  is  too  loud  to  be  becoming  ?  " 

"  Come,  now,  Uncle  Johnny,"  said  young  Den- 
ham,  "no  winking,  and  I'll  tell  you.  I  was 
talking  to  Miss  Kitty  just  now,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  she  cried  out,  '  Why,  yonder 's  Uncle 
Johnny  Roach,  and  he  's  walking,  too.  Uncle 
Johnny  must  stay  to  dinner ; '  and  Mrs.  Ken- 


184  BLUE  DAVE. 

drick  says,  'Yes,  and  Brother  Brannum,  too.' 
And  so  there  you  are." 

"  Well,  sir,"  exclaimed  Brother  Roach,  "  Kitty 
always  had  a  piece  of  my  heart,  and  now  she 
has  it  all." 

"  A  likely  young  man,  that  George  Denham," 
said  Brother  Brannum,  as  Denham  moved  to- 
wards the  house. 

"  You  never  spoke  a  truer  word,  Brother 
Brannum,"  said  Brother  Roach,  enthusiastically. 
"  Look  at  his  limbs,  look  at  his  gait,  look  at  his 
eye.  If  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  don't 
freeze  out  his  intents,  you'll  hear  from  that 
chap.  He's  a-gitting  high  up  in  the  law,  and 
where '11  you  find  a  better  managed  plantation 
thanhis'n?" 

What  else  Brother  Roach  said  or  might  have 
said  must  be  left  to  conjecture.  In  the  midst 
of  his  eulogy  on  the  living,  the  preacher  in  the 
house  began  his  eulogy  of  the  dead.  Those  who 
heard  what  he  said  were  much  edified,  and  those 
who  failed  to  hear  made  a  decorous  pretence  of 
listening  intently.  In  the  midst  of  the  sermon 


BLUE  DAVE.  185 

Brother  Roach  felt  himself  touched  on  the  arm. 
Looking  up,  he  saw  that  Brother  Brannum  was 
gazing  intently  at  one  of  the  gables  on  the  roof. 
Following  the  direction  of  Brother  Brannum's 
eyes,  Brother  Roach  beheld,  with  astonishment 
not  unmixed  with  awe,  the  head  and  shoulders 
of  a  powerfully  built  negro.  The  attitude  of 
the  negro  was  one  of  attention.  He  was  evi- 
dently trying  to  hear  the  sermon.  His  head 
was  bent,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was 
indicative  of  great  good-humor.  His  shirt  was 
ragged  and  dirty,  and  had  fallen  completely 
away  from  one  arm  and  shoulder,  and  the  bil- 
lowy muscles  glistened  in  the  sun.  While 
Brother  Brannuni  and  Brother  Roach  were  gaz- 
ing at  him  with  some  degree  of  amazement,  an 
acorn  dropped  upon  the  roof  from  one  of  the 
tall  oaks.  Startled  by  the  sudden  noise,  the 
negro  glanced  hurriedly  around,  and  dropped 
quickly  below  the  line  of  vision. 

"  Well,  well,  well ! "  exclaimed  Brother  Roach, 
after  exchanging  a  look  of  amazement  with 
Brother  Brannum.  "Well,  well,  well!  Who'd 


186  BLUE  DAVE. 

V  thought  it.  I  Once  'twas  the  nigger  in  the 
woodpile;  now  it's  the  nigger  in  the  steeple, 
/  and  arter  awhile  they  '11  be  a-flying  in  the  air,  — 
mark  my  words.  I  call  that  the  impidence  of 
the  Old  Boy.  Maybe  you  don't  know  that  nig- 
ger, Brother  Brannum  ?  " 

"  I  disremember  if  I  do,  Brother  Roach." 

"  Well,  sir,  when  one  of  'em  passes  in  front 
of  your  Uncle  Johnny,  you  may  up  and  sw'ar  his 
dagarrytype  is  took.  That  nigger,  roosting  up 
there  so  slick  and  cool,  is  Bledser's  Blue  Dave. 
Nuther  more,  nuther  less." 

"Bledser's  Blue  Dave!"  exclaimed  Brother 
Brannum  in  a  voice  made  sepulchral  by  amaze- 
ment. 

"  The  identical  nigger !  I  'd  know  him  if  I 
met  him  arm-in-arm  with  the  King  and  Queen 
of  France." 

"Why,  I  thought  Blue  Dave  had  made  his 
disappearance  five  year  ago,"  said  Brother 
Brannum. 

"  Well,  sir,  my  two  eyes  tells  me  different. 
Time  and  time  ag'in  I've  been  told  he's  a 


BLUE  DAVE.  187 

quare  creetur.  Some  say  he 's  strong  as  a  horse 
and  venomous  as  a  snake.  Some  say  he's 
swifter  than  the  wind  and  slicker  than  a  red 
fox.  And  many's  the  time  by  my  own  h'a'th- 
stone  I  've  had  to  pooh-pooh  these  relations ; 
yet  there's  no  denying  that  for  mighty  nigh 
seven  year  that  nigger 's  been  trolloping  round 
through  the  woods  foot-loose  and  scotch-free, 
bidding  defiance  to  the  law  of  the  State  and 
Bill  Brand's  track  dogs." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Brother  Brannum,  fetching 
his  hand  down  on  his  knee  with  a  thwack,  "  we 
ought  to  alarm  the  assemblage." 

"  Jes  so,"  replied  Brother  Roach,  with  some- 
thing like  a  chuckle ;  "  but  you  f orgit  the  time 
and  the  occasion,  Brother  Brannum.  I'm  a 
worldly  man  myself,  as  you  may  say,  but 't  will 
be  long  arter  I'm  more  worldlier  than  what  I 
am  before  you  can  ketch  me  cuttin'  sech  a  scol- 
lop as  to  wind  up  a  funeral  sermon  wi'  a  race 
arter  a  runaway  nigger." 

Brother  Brannum  agreed  with  this  view,  but 
.  it  was  with  a  poor  grace.  He  had  a  vague  re- 


188  BLUE  DAVE. 

membrance  of  certain  rewards  that  had  from 
time  to  time  been  offered  for  the  capture  of 
Blue  Dave,  and  he  was  anxious  to  have  a  hand 
in  securing  at  least  a  part  of  these.  But  he  re- 
frained from  sounding  the  alarm.  With  Brother 
Roach,  he  remained  at  the  Kendrick  Place  after 
the  sermon  was  over,  and  took  dinner.  He 
rode  off  shortly  afterwards,  and  the  next  day 
Bill  Brand  and  his  track  dogs  put  in  an  appear- 
ance ;  but  Blue  Dave  was  gone. 

It  was  a  common  thing  to  hear  of  fugitive 
negroes ;  but  Blue  Dave  (so  called  because  of 
the  inky  blackness  of  his  skin)  had  a  name  and 
a  fame  that  made  him  the  terror  of  the  women 
and  children,  both  white  and  black;  and  Kitty 
Kendrick  and  her  mother  were  not  a  little  dis- 
turbed when  they  learned  that  he  had  been  in 
hiding  among  the  gables  of  their  house.  The 
negro's  success  in  eluding  pursuit  caused  the 
ignorant-minded  of  both  races  to  attribute  to 
him  the  possession  of  some  mysterious  power. 
He  grew  into  a  legend  ;  he  became  a  part  of  the 
folk-lore  of  the  section.  According  to  popular 


BLUE  DAVE.  189 

belief,  he  possessed  strange  powers  and  great 
courage;  he  became  a  giant,  a  spirit  of  evil. 
Women  frightened  their  children  into  silence 
by  calling  his  name,  and  many  a  youngster 
crept  to  bed  in  mortal  fear  that  Blue  Dave 
would  come  in  the  night  and  whisk  him  away 
into  the  depths  of  the  dark  woods.  Whatever 
mischief  was  done  was  credited  to  Blue  Dave. 
If  a  horse  was  found  in  the  lot  spattered  with 
mud,  Blue  Dave  had  ridden  it ;  if  a  cow  was 
crippled,  a  hog  missing,  or  a  smoke-house 
robbed,  Blue  Dave  was  sure  to  be  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it  all,  so  far  as  popular  belief  was  con- 
cerned. The  negroes  had  many  stories  to  tell 
of  him.  One  had  seen  him  standing  by  a  tall 
poplar-tree.  He  was  about  to  speak  to  him 
when  there  came  a  flash  of  lightning  and  a 
crash  of  thunder,  and  Blue  Dave  disappeared, 
leaving  a  sulphurous  smell  behind  him.  He  had 
been  seen  by  another  negro.  He  was  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  Armour's  Ferry  road.  He 
was  armed  with  a  gleaming  reap-hook,  and 
accompanied  by  a  big  black  dog.  As  soon  as 


190  BLUE  DAVE. 

the  dog  saw  the  new-comer,  it  bristled  up  from 
head  to  foot,  its  eyes  shone  like  two  coals  of  fire, 
and  every  hair  on  its  back  emitted  a  fiery  spark. 
Very  little  was  known  of  the  history  of  Blue 
Dave.  He  was  brought  to  the  little  village  of 
Rockville  in  chains  in  a  speculator's  train,  —  the 
train  consisting  of  two  Conestoga  wagons  and 
thirty  or  forty  forlorn-looking  negroes.  The 
speculator  explained  that  he  had  manacled  Blue 
Dave  because  he  was  unmanageable;  and  he 
put  him  on  the  block  to  sell  him  after  making 
it  perfectly  clear  to  everybody  that  whoever 
bought  the  negro  would  get  a  bad  bargain. 
Nevertheless  Blue  Dave  was  a  magnificent 
specimen  of  manhood,  straight  as  an  arrow,  as 
muscular  as  Hercules,  and  with  a  countenance 
as  open  and  as  pleasant  as  one  would  wish  to 
see.  He  was  bought  by  General  Alfred  Bled- 
ser,  and  put  on  his  River  Place.  He  worked 
well  for  a  few  weeks,  but  got  into  trouble  with 
the  overseer,  and  finally  compromised  matters 
by  taking  to  the  woods.  He  seemed  born  for 
this  particular  business ;  for  the  track  dogs  failed 


BLUE  DAVE.  191 

to  find  him,  and  all  the  arts  and  artifices  em- 
ployed for  capturing  and  reclaiming  runaways 
failed  in  his  case.  It  was  a  desperate  sort  of 
freedom  he  enjoyed ;  but  he  seemed  suited  to  it, 
and  he  made  the  most  of  it. 

As  might  be  supposed,  there  was  great  com- 
motion in  the  settlement,  and  particularly  at  the 
Kendrick  homestead,  when  it  was  known  that 
Blue  Dave  had  been  hiding  among  the  gables  of 
the  Kendrick  house.  Mrs.  Kendrick  and  her 
daughter  Kitty  possessed  their  full  share  of 
what  Brother  Roach  would  have  called  "  spunk ; " 
but  there  is  a  large  and  very  important  corner 
of  the  human  mind  —  particularly  if  it  hap- 
pens to  be  a  feminine  mind  —  which  devotes 
itself  to  superstition;  and  these  gentle  ladies, 
while  they  stood  in  no  terror  of  Blue  Dave  as  a 
runaway  negro  simply,  were  certainly  awed  by 
the  spectral  figure  which  had  grown  up  out  of 
common  report.  The  house  negroes  stood  in 
mortal  dread  of  Blue  Dave,  and  their  dismay 
was  not  without  its  effect  upon  Mrs.  Kendrick 
and  her  daughter.  Jenny,  the  house-girl,  re 


192  BLUE  DAVE. 

fused  to  sleep  at  the  quarters ;  and  when  Aunt 
Tabby,  the  cook,  started  for  her  cabin  after  dark, 
she  was  accompanied  by  a  number  of  little  ne- 
groes bearing  lightwood  torches.  All  the  sto- 
ries and  legends  that  clustered  around  Blue 
Dave's  career  were  brought  to  the  surface 
again ;  and,  as  we  have  seen,  the  great  majority 
of  them  were  anything  but  reassuring. 


WHILE  the  commotion  in  the  settlement  and 
on  the  Kendrick  Place  was  at  its  height,  an  in- 
cident occurred  that  had  a  tendency  to  relieve 
Kitty  Kendrick's  mind.  Shortly  after  the  fu- 
neral the  spring  rains  had  set  in,  and  for  sev- 
eral days  great  floods  came  down  from  the  skies. 
One  evening  shortly  after  dark,  Kitty  Kendrick 
stepped  out  upon  the  veranda,  in  an  aimless 
sort  of  way,  to  look  at  the  clouds.  The  rain 
had  ceased,  but  the  warm  earth  was  reeking 
with  moisture.  The  trees  and  the  ground  were 
smoking  with  fog,  and  great  banks  of  vapor 
were  whirling  across  the  sky  from  the  south- 
west. Kitty  sighed.  After  a  while  George  Den- 
ham  would  go  rattling  by  in  his  buggy  from 
his  law  office  in  Rockville  to  his  plantation,  and 
it  was  too  dark  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him.  At 


194  BLUE  DAVE. 

any  rate,  she  would  do  the  best  she  could.  She 
would  put  the  curtains  of  the  sitting-room 
back,  so  the  light  could  shine  out,  and  perhaps 
George  would  stop  to  warm  his  hands  and  say 
a  word  to  her  mother.  Kitty  turned  to  go  in 
when  she  heard  her  name  called, — 

"Miss  Kitty!" 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  Kitty  was  startled  a 
little  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  don't  be  skeer'd." 

"Why  should  I  be  frightened?  What  do 
you  want?" 

"  Miss  Kitty,  I  des  come  by  fer  ter  tell  you 
dat  Murder  Creek  done  come  way  out  er  its 
banks,  en  ef  Mars.  George  Denham  come  by 
w'en  he  gwine  on  home,  I  wish  you  please, 
ma'am,  be  so  good  ez  ter  tell  'im  dat  dey  ain't 
no  fordin'  place  fer  ter  be  foun'  dar  dis 
night." 

The  voice  was  that  of  a  negro,  and  there 
was  something  in  the  tone  of  it  that  arrested 
Kitty  Kendrick's  attention. 

"Who  sent  vou?"  she  asked. 


BLUE  DAVE.  195 

"  Nobody  ain't  sont  me ;  I  des  come  by  my- 
se'f.  I  laid  off  fer  ter  tell  Mars.  George,  but  I 
year  talk  he  mighty  headstrong,  en  I  speck  he 
des  laugh  at  me." 

"  Are  you  one  of  our  hands  ? " 

"No, 'm;  I  don't  b'long  on  de  Kendrick 
Place." 

"  Come  out  of  the  shadow  there  where  I  can 
see  you." 

"  I  mos'  fear'd,  Miss  Kitty." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Dey  calls  me  Blue  Dave,  ma'am." 

The  tone  of  the  voice  was  something  more 
than  humble.  There  was  an  appeal  in  it  for 
mercy.  Kitty  Kendrick  recognized  this ;  but 
in  spite  of  it  she  could  scarcely  resist  an  im- 
pulse to  rush  into  the  house,  lock  the  door,  and 
take  steps  to  rouse  the  whole  plantation.  By 
a  great  effort  she  did  resist  it,  and  the  negro 
went  on:  — 

"  Please,  ma'am,  don't  be  skeer'd  er  me,  Miss 
Kitty.  De  Lord  years  me  w'en  I  say  it,  dey 
ain't  a  ha'r  er  yo'  head  dat  I'd  hurt,  dat  dey 


196  BLUE  DAVE. 

ain't.  I  ain't  bad  like  dey  make  out  I  is,  Miss 
Kitty.  Dey  tells  some  mighty  big  tales,  but 
dey  makes  um  up  dey  se'f.  Manys  en  manys 
de  time  is  I  seed  you  w'en  you  gwine  atter 
sweet-gum  en  w'en  you  huntin'  flowers,  en  I 
allers  say  ter  myse'f ,  I  did,  '  Nobody  better  not 
pester  Miss  Kitty  w'iles  Blue  Dave  anywhars 
'rounY  Miss  Kitty,  I  'clar'  'fo'  de  Lord  I 
ain't  no  bad  nigger,"  Blue  Dave  continued  in 
a  tone  of  the  most  emphatic  entreaty.  "  You 
des  ax  yo'  little  br'er.  Little  Mars.  Felix,  he 
knows  I  ain't  no  bad  nigger." 

"Why  don't  you  go  home,  instead  of  hiding 
out  in  the  woods  ?  "  said  Kitty,  striving  to  speak 
in  a  properly  indignant  tone. 

"  Bless  yo'  soul,  Miss  Kitty,  hit  ain't  no 
home  fer  me,"  said  Blue  Dave,  sadly.  "Hit 
mought  be  a  home  fer  some  niggers,  but  hit 
ain't  no  home  fer  me.  I  year  somebody  comin'. 
Good-by,  Miss  Kitty ;  don't  fergit  'bout  Mars. 
George." 

As  noiselessly  as  the  wind  that  faintly  stirs 
the  grass,  Blue  Dave  glided  away  in  the  dark- 


BLUE  DAVE.  197 

ness,  leaving  Kitty  Kendrick  standing  upon  the 
veranda  half  frightened  and  wholly  puzzled. 
Her  little  brother  Felix  came  out  to  see  where 
she  had  gone.  Felix  was  eight  years  old,  and 
had  views  of  his  own. 

"  Sister  Kit,  what  are  you  doing  ?  Watching 
for  Mr.  George  to  go  by  ? " 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  you  naughty  boy ! "  ex- 
claimed Kitty.  "You've  disgraced  us  all. 
You  knew  Blue  Dave  was  hiding  on  top  of  the 
house  all  the  while.  What  would  be  done  with 
us  if  people  found  out  we  had  been  harboring 
a  runaway  negro  ?  "  Kitty  pretended  to  be  ter- 
ribly shocked.  Felix  gave  a  long  whistle,  in- 
dicative of  astonishment. 

"  You  are  awful  smart,"  he  said.  "  How  did 
you  find  that  out  ?  Yes,  I  did  know  it,"  he 
went  on  desperately,  "  and  I  don't  care  if  I  did. 
If  you  tell  anybody,  I  '11  never  run  up  the  road 
to  see  if  Mr.  George  is  coming  as  long  as  I  live ; 
I  won't  never  do  anything  for  you." 

Kitty's  inference  was  based  on  what  Blue 
Dave  had  said;  but  it  filled  her  with  dismay 


198  BLUE  DAVE. 

to  find  it  true.  She  caught  the  child  by  the 
shoulder  and  gave  him  a  little  shake. 

"  Brother  Felix,  how  dare  you  do  such  a 
thing?  If  mother  knew  of  it,  it  would  break 
her  heart." 

"  Well,  go  and  tell  her  and  break  her  heart," 
said  the  boy,  sullenly.  "  It  was  n't  my  fault 
that  Blue  Dave  was  up  there.  I  did  n't  tote 
him  up,  I  reckon." 

"  Oh,  how  could  you  do  such  a  thing  ? "  re- 
iterated Kitty,  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  as  if  by  this  means  to  expiate  her  brother's 
folly. 

"Well,"  said  the  child,  still  speaking  sul- 
lenly, "  I  heard  something  moving  on  top  of 
the  house  one  day  when  I  was  in  the  garret, 
and  I  kept  on  hearing  it  until  I  opened  the 
window  and  went  out  on  the  roof.  Then,  when 
I  got  out  there,  I  saw  a  great  big  nigger 
man." 

"  Were  n't  you  frightened  ?  "  exclaimed  Kitty, 
catching  her  breath.  "  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  '  Hello ! '  and  then  he  jumped  like  he 


BLUE  DAVE.  199 

was  shot.  I  asked  him  his  name,  and  he  said 
he  was  named  Blue  Dave,  and  he  begged  me  so 
hard  I  promised  not  to  tell  he  was  up  there. 
And  then,  after  that,  he  used  to  come  in  the 
garret  and  tell  me  no  end  of  tales,  and  I  've  got 
a  trunk  full  of  chestnuts  that  he  brought  me. 
He's  the  best  nigger  man  I  ever  saw,  less'n 
it 's  old  Uncle  Manuel,  and  he  '11  be  as  good  as 
Uncle  Manuel  when  he  gets  that  old,  'cause 
Uncle  Manuel  said  so.  And  I  know  it  ain't 
my  fault;  and  if  you  want  to  tell  mother  you 
can  come  and  tell  her  right  now,  and  then 
you  won't  never  be  my  sister  any  more,  never, 
never ! " 

"I  think  you  have  acted  shamefully,"  said 
Kitty.  "  Suppose  he  had  come  in  the  garret, 
and  made  his  way  downstairs,  and  murdered  us 
all  while  we  were  asleep." 

"Well,"  said  Felix,  "he  could  have  come  any 
time.  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  go  out  in  the 
woods  and  stay  with  Blue  Dave  this  very  night, 
and  if  I  had  my  way  he  wouldn't  be  run- 
ning from  old  Bill  Brand  and  his  dogs.  When 


200  BLUE  DAVE. 

I  get  a  man  I  'm  going  to  save  up  money 
and  buy  Blue  Dave.  I  thought  at  first  I 
wanted  a  pony,  but  I  wouldn't  have  a  pony 
now." 

While  they  were  talking,  Kitty  heard  the  rat- 
tle of  buggy  wheels.  The  sound  came  nearer 
and  nearer.  Whoever  was  driving  was  singing 
to  pass  the  time  away,  and  the  quick  ear  of 
Kitty  recognized  the  voice  of  George  Denham. 
He  went  dashing  by ;  but  he  must  have  seen  the 
girl  standing  on  the  veranda,  for  he  cried 
out,  "  Good-night,  Miss  Kitty ! "  and  then  caught 
up  the  burden  of  his  song  again  as  he  went 
whirling  down  the  road.  Kitty  wrung  her 
hands.  She  went  in  to  her  mother  with  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  mother!  George  has  gone  by  without 
stopping.  What  shall  we  do?" 

Mrs.  Kendrick  was  a  very  practical  woman. 
Knowing  nothing  of  the  freshet  in  Murder 
Creek,  she  was  amazed  as  well  as  amused  at 
Kitty's  tragic  attitude. 

"Well,  it's  most  too  soon  for  George  to  be- 


BLUE  DAVE.  201 

gin  to  take  his  meals  here,  I  reckon,"  she  said 
dryly.  "  You'd  better  make  you  a  cup  of  ginger- 
tea  and  go  to  bed." 

"But,  mother,  there's  a  freshet  in  Murder 
Creek.  Oh,  why  didn't  he  stop?" 

Mrs.  Kendrick  was  kneeling  on  the  floor  cut- 
ting out  clothes  for  the  plough-hands,  —  "slav- 
ing for  her  niggers,"  as  she  called  it.  She 
paused  in  her  work  and  looked  at  Kitty,  as  if 
to  see  whether  she  had  heard  her  aright. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word ! "  she  exclaimed,  after 
critically  surveying  her  daughter,  "  I  don't  see 
how  girls  can  be  so  weak-minded.  Many  a 
man  as  good  as  George  Denham  has  crossed 
Murder  Creek  in  a  freshet.  I  don't  see  but 
what  he 's  big  enough  and  ugly  enough  to  take 
care  of  himself." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Kitty,  going  from  window 
to  window,  and  vainly  endeavoring  to  peer  out 
into  the  darkness,  "  why  did  n't  he  stop  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Kendrick,  resuming  the 
use  of  her  shears,  "  if  you  '11  try  to  worry  along 
and  stand  it  this  time,  I'll  send  out  and  have 


202  BLUE  DAVE. 

a  fence  built  across  the  big  road,  and  get  the 
niggers  to  light  a  bonfire;  and  we'll  stop  him 
the  next  time  he  comes  along.  I  '11  have  to  do 
my  duty  by  my  own  children,  I  reckon.  But 
don't  be  alarmed,"  she  continued,  perceiving 
that  Kitty's  distress  was  genuine.  "You  may 
have  to  fly  around  here  and  get  George  some 
supper,  after  all.  I  've  been  waiting  on  niggers 
all  day ;  and  even  if  I  had  n't,  I  'm  too  old  and 
fagged  out  to  be  rushing  in  amongst  the  pots 
and  kettles  to  please  George  Denham." 

George  Denham  rattled  down  the  road,  sing- 
ing of  "  Barbara  Allen,"  but  thinking  of  Kitty 
Kendrick.  Suddenly  his  horse  shied,  and  then 
he  heard  somebody  call  him. 

"  Mars.  George !     Is  dat  you,  Mars.  George  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  want  to  make  a  ghost  of  me 
by  frightening  my  horse,"  exclaimed  the  young 
man,  checking  the  animal  with  some  difficulty. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

"Mars.  George,  is  you  see  Miss  Kitty  w'en 
you  come  by  des  now?" 

"  No,  I  did  n't  stop.    Is  anything  the  matter  ?  " 


BLUE  DAVE.  203 

"No,  sir,  nothin'  in  'tickler  ain't  de  matter, 
'ceppin'  dat  Miss  Kitty  had  sump'n'  ter  tell  you." 

"  Are  you  one  of  the  Kendrick  negroes  ? " 

"  No,  sir ;  I  don't  b'long  dar." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  'clar'  ter  goodness,  I  skeer'd  ter  tell  you, 
Mars.  George;  kaze  you  mought  fly  up  en  git 
mad." 

The  young  man  laughed  with  such  genuine 
heartiness  that  it  did  the  negro  good  to  hear  it. 

"  Well,  I  know  who  you  are,"  he  said  ;  "  you 
are  Blue  Dave,  and  you  've  come  to  tell  me  that 
you  want  me  to  carry  you  to  jail,  where  Bill 
Brand  can  get  his  hands  on  you." 

The  negro  was  thunderstruck.  "  To'  de  Lord, 
Mars.  George  !  how  you  know  who  I  is  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  know  by  your  looks.  You  've  got 
horns  and  a  club  foot.  That 's  the  way  the  Old 
Boy  fixes  himself." 

"Now,  Mars.  George,"  said  the  negro,  in  a 
grieved  tone,  "  ef  you  could  see  me  good  you 
wouldn't  set  dar  en  say  I'm  a  bad-lookin' 
nigger." 


204  BLUE  DAVE. 

"  Are  you  really  Blue  Dave  ?  "  the  young  man 
asked,  dropping  his  bantering  tone  and  speaking 
seriously. 

"  Yasser,  Mars.  George  ;  I  'm  dat  ve'y  nigger." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ? " 

"I  des  wanter  tell  you,  Mars.  George,  dat 
dey's  a  freshet  come  fum  'bove,  en  Murder 
Creek  is  'way  out'n  hits  banks.  You  can't 
cross  dar  wid  no  hoss  en  buggy  dis  night." 

The  young  man  reflected  a  moment.  He 
was  more  interested  in  the  attitude  of  the 
negro  than  he  was  in  the  extent  of  the  freshet 
or  the  danger  of  an  attempt  to  cross  the 
creek. 

"  I  've  a  knack  of  crossing  Murder  Creek  in  a 
freshet,"  he  said.  "  But  why  should  you  want 
to  keep  me  out  of  it?" 

"  Well,  sir,  fer  one  thing,"  said  Blue  Dave, 
shifting  about  on  his  feet  uneasily,  "you  look 
so  much  like  my  young  marster  w'at  died  in 
Ferginny.  En  den  dat  day  w'en  de  speckerlater 
put  me  up  on  de  block,  you  'uz  settin'  dar  strad- 
dle er  yo'  pony,  en  you  'lowed  dat  he  oughter 


BLUE  DAVE.  205 

be  'shame  er  hisse'f  fer  ter  chain  me  up  dat 
a-way." 

"Oh,  I  remember.  I  made  quite  a  fool  of 
myself  that  day." 

"  Yasser ;  en  den  w'en  de  man  say  sump'n' 
sassy  back,  little  ez  you  wuz,  you  spurred  de 
pony  at  'im  en  tole  'im  you  'd  slap  'im  in  de  jaw. 
He  'uz  de  skeer'dest  w'ite  man  I  ever  see.  I 
say  ter  myse'f  den  dat  I  hope  de  day  'd  come 
w'en  dat  little  boy  'd  grow  up  en  buy  me ;  en 
dat  make  I  say  w'at  I  does.  I  want  you  to  keep 
out'n  dat  creek  dis  night,  en  den  I  want  you 
ter  buy  me.  Please,  sir,  buy  me,  Mars.  George ; 
I  make  you  de  bes'  nigger  you  ever  had." 

"  Why,  great  Jerusalem !  you  would  n't  be  on 
my  place  a  week  before  you  'd  get  your  feelings 
hurt  and  rush  off  to  the  woods,  and  I  'd  never 
see  you  any  more." 

"  Des  try  me,  Mars.  George  !  des  try  me.  I  '11 
work  my  arms  off  ter  de  elbows,  en  den  I'll 
work  wid  de  stumps.  Des  try  me,  Mars. 
George ! " 

"  I  expect  you  would  be  a  right  good  hand  if 


206  BLUE  DAVE. 

you  hadn't  been  free  so  long.  Go  home  and 
let  me  see  how  you  can  work  for  your  master, 
and  then  maybe  I  '11  think  about  buying  you." 

"Eh-eh,  Mars.  George!  I  better  go  jump  in 
a  burnin'  bresh-pile.  Ain't  you  gwine  ter  tu'n 
back,  Mars.  George?" 

"Not  to-night.  Go  home  and  behave  your- 
self." 

With  that  George  Denham  clucked  to  his  res- 
tive horse,  and  went  clattering  down  the  road 
in  the  direction  of  Murder  Creek,  which  crossed 
the  highway  a  mile  farther  on.  Blue  Dave 
stood  still  a  moment,  scratching  his  head  and 
looking  after  the  buggy. 

"  Is  anybody  ever  see  de  beat  er  dat?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Ef  Mars.  George  gits  in  dat  creek 
dey  's  got  ter  be  a  merakel  come  'bout  ef  he  gits 
out."  He  stood  in  the  road  a  moment  longer, 
still  scratching  his  head  as  if  puzzled.  Then  he 
addressed  himself  indignantly.  "Looky  yer, 
nigger,  w'at  you  stan'in'  yer  fer  ?  Whar  yo' 
manners,  whar  yo'  perliteness  ?  " 

Thus,  half-humorously,  half-seriously,  talking 


BLUE  DAVE.  207 

to  himself,  Blue  Dave  went  trotting  along  in 
the  direction  taken  by  George  Denham.  He 
moved  without  apparent  exertion,  but  with 
amazing  swiftness.  But  the  young  man  in  the 
buggy  had  also  moved  swiftly ;  and,  go  as  fast 
as  he  might,  Blue  Dave  could  not  hope  to  over- 
take him  before  he  reached  the  creek. 

For  George  Denham  was  impatient  to  get 
home,  —  as  impatient  as  his  horse,  which  did  not 
need  even  the  lightest  touch  of  the  whip  to  urge 
it  forward.  He  paid  no  attention  to  the  famil- 
iar road.  He  was  thinking  of  pretty  Kitty  Ken- 
drick,  and  of  the  day,  not  very  far  in  the  future 
he  hoped,  when,  in  going  home,  he  should  be 
driving  towards  her  instead  of  away  from  her. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  the  fact  that,  as  he 
neared  the  creek,  his  horse  subsided  from  a 
swinging  trot  to  a  mincing  gait  that  betrayed 
indecision ;  nor  did  it  strike  him  as  anything 
unusual  that  the  horse  should  begin  to  splash 
water  with  his  feet  long  before  he  had  reached 
the  banks  of  the  creek ;  no  doubt  it  was  a  pool 
left  standing  in  the  road  after  the  heavy  rains. 


208  BLUE  DAVE. 

But  the  pool  steadily  grew  deeper ;  and  while 
George  Denham  was  picturing  Kitty  Kendrick 
sitting  on  one  side  of  his  fireplace  and  his  old 
mother  on  the  other,  —  his  old  mother,  with  her 
proud  face  and  her  stately  ways,  —  his  horse 
stopped  and  looked  around.  Young  Denham 
slapped  the  animal  with  the  reins,  without  tak- 
ing note  of  his  surroundings.  Thus  reassured, 
the  horse  went  on ;  but  the  water  grew  deeper 
and  deeper,  and  presently  the  creature  stopped 
again.  This  time  it  smelt  of  the  water  and 
emitted  the  low,  deeply  drawn  snort  by  which 
horses  betray  their  uneasiness;  and  when 
George  Denham  would  have  urged  it  forward, 
it  struck  the  water  impatiently  with  its  forefoot. 
Aroused  by  this,  the  young  man  looked  around ; 
but  there  was  nothing  to  warn  him  of  his  dan- 
ger. The  fence  that  would  otherwise  have  been 
a  landmark,  was  gone.  There  was  no  loud  and 
angry  roaring  of  the  floods.  Behind  him  the 
shifting  clouds,  the  shining  stars,  and  the  blue 
patches  of  sky  mirrored  themselves  duskily  and 
vaguely  in  the  slow  creeping  waters;  before 


BLUE  DAVE.  209 

him  the  shadows  of  the  trees  that  clustered 
somewhere  near  the  banks  of  the  creek  were  so 
deep  and  heavy  that  they  seemed  to  merge  the 
dark  waters  of  the  flood  into  the  gloom  of  the 
night.  When  the  horse  was  qniet,  peering  ahead, 
with  its  sharp  little  ears  pointed  forward,  there 
was  no  sound  save  the  vague  sighing  of  the 
wind  through  the  tops  of  the  scrub  pines  and 
the  gentle  ripple  of  the  waters. 

As  George  Denham  urged  his  horse  forward, 
confident  of  his  familiarity  with  the  surround- 
ings, Blue  Dave  ran  up  on  the  little  ridge  to 
the  left  through  which  the  road  had  been  cut 
or  worn. 

"  Mars.  George !  "  he  shouted,  "  don't  you  see 
wharbouts  you  is  !  Wait,  Mars.  George !  Pull 
dat  hoss  up !  " 

But  Blue  Dave  was  too  late.  As  he  spoke, 
the  horse  and  buggy  plunged  into  the  flood,  and 
for  a  moment  they  were  lost  to  view.  Then 
the  struggling  animal  seemed  to  strike  rising 
ground ;  but  the  buggy  was  caught  in  the  re- 
sistless current,  and,  with  George  Denham 

14 


210  BLUE  DAVE. 

clinging  to  it,  it  dragged  the  horse  down,  and 
the  swirling  waters  aeemed  to  sweep  over  and 
beyond  them.  Blue  Dave  lost  not  a  moment. 
Flinging  himself  into  the  flood  from  the  van- 
tage ground  on  which  he  stood,  a  few  strokes 
of  his  sinewy  arms  carried  him  to  where  he  saw 
George  Denham  disappear.  That  young  man 
was  an  expert  swimmer ;  and  though  the  sud- 
den immersion  had  taken,  him  at  a  disadvantage, 
he  would  have  made  his  way  out  with  little  dif- 
ficulty but  for  the  fact  that  a  heavy  piece  of 
driftwood  had  been  hurled  against  his  head. 
Stunned,  but  still  conscious,  he  was  making  an 
ineffectual  attempt  to  reach  the  shore  when  he 
was  caught  by  Blue  Dave  and  borne  safely  back 
to  land.  The  horse,  iii  its  struggles,  had  suc- 
ceeded in  tearing  itself  loose  from  the  buggy, 
and  they  heard  it  crawl  up  the  bank  on  the 
other  side  and  shake  itself.  Blue  Dave  carried 
George  Denham  out  of  the  water  as  one  would 
carry  a  child.  When  he  had  set  the  young  man 
down  in  a  comparatively  dry  place,  he  ex- 
claimed with  a  grin, — 


BLUE  DAVE.  211 

"Dar  now,  Mars.  George!  w'at  I  tell  you? 
Little  mo'  en  de  tarrypins  would  'a'  bin  a-nibblin' 
atter  you." 

George  Denham  was  dazed  as  well  as  weak. 
He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  and  tried  to  laugh. 

"  You  were  just  in  time,  old  fellow,"  he  said. 

Then  he  got  on  his  feet  and  tried  to  walk,  but 
he  would  have  sunk  down  again  but  for  Blue 
Dave's  arm. 

"  Why,  I  'm  as  weak  as  a  stray  cat,"  he 
exclaimed  feebly.  "Let  me  lie  down  here  a 
moment." 

"  Dat  I  won't,  Mars.  George !  dat  I  won't !     I 
% 
tuck  V  brung  you  out,  en  now  I  'm  a-gwineter 

take  'n'  ca'er  you  back  dar  whar  Miss  Kitty 
waitin'." 

"  Well,  you  '11  have  to  wait  until  I  can  walk." 

"  No,  sir ;  I  '11  des  squat  down,  en  you  kin 
crawl  up  on  my  back  des  like  you  useter  play 
hoss." 

"  Why,  you  can't  carry  me,  old  fellow ;  I  'm 
too  heavy  for  that." 

u  Shoo !  don't  you  b'leeve  de  half  er  dat,  Mars. 


212  BLUE  DAVE. 

George.  I  toted  bigger  turns  dan  w'at  you  is 
long  'fo'  I  had  de  strenk  w'at  I  got  now.  Grab 
me  'roun'  de  neck,  Mars.  George;  git  up  lit- 
tle higher.  Now,  den,  don't  you  be  fear'd  er 
fallin'." 

Blue  Dave  rose  from  his  stooping  posture, 
steadied  himself  a  moment,  and  then  moved  on 
with  his  living  burden.  He  moved  slowly  and 
cautiously  at  first,  but  gradually  increased  his 
pace  to  a  swinging  walk  that  carried  him  for- 
ward with  surprising  swiftness. 

To  George  Denham  it  all  seemed  like  a  dream. 
He  suffered  no  pain,  and  it  was  with  a  sort  of 
queer  elation  of  mind  that  he  felt  the  huge  mus- 
cles of  the  negro  swell  and  subside  under  him 
with  the  regularity  of  machinery,  and  knew  that 
every  movement  carried  him  toward  Kitty  Ken- 
drick  and  —  rest.  He  was  strangely  tired,  but 
not  otherwise  uncomfortable.  He  felt  abun- 
dantly grateful  to  this  poor  runaway  negro,  and 
thought  that  if  he  could  overcome  his  mother's 
prejudices  (she  had  a  horror  of  runaway  ne- 
groes) he  would  buy  Blue  Dave  and  make  him 


BLUE  DATE.  213 

comfortable.  Thus  they  swung  along  until  the 
negro's  swift  stride  brought  them  to  Mrs.  Ken- 
drick's  gate.  There  Blue  Dave  deposited  George 
Denham,  and  exclaimed  with  a  laugh  as  he 
leaned  against  the  fence, — 

"  You  'er  right  smart  chunk  er  meat,  Mars. 
George,  ez  sho  ez  de  worl'  ! " 

George  Denham  also  leaned  against  the  fence, 
but  he  did  n't  laugh.  He  was  thinking  of  what 
seemed  to  him  a  very  serious  matter. 

"  Mother  will  be  frightened  to  death  when 
that  horse  gets  home,"  he  said. 

"  You  go  in  dar  en  get  worn,  Mars.  George," 
said  Blue  Dave.  "  I  'm  gwine  'roun'  by  de  High 
Bridge  en  tell  um  whar  you  is." 

"Why,  you'll  break  yourself  down,"  said 
George  Denham. 

"Ah,  Lord,  Mars.  George!"  said  the  negro, 
laughing,  "  time  you  bin  in  de  woods  long  ez  I 
is  de  four  mile  'twix'  yer  e  yo'  house  '11  look 
mighty  short.  Go  in  dar,  Mars.  George,  'fo* 
you  git  col' ! " 

Shortly  after  this,  Geo  ?e  Denham  was  in  bed 


214  BLUE  DAVE. 

and  fast  asleep.  He  had  been  met  at  the  dooi 
by  Kitty  Kendrick,  in  whose  tell-tale  face  the 
blushes  of  that  heartiest  of  all  welcomes  had 
chased  away  the  pallor  of  dread  and  anxiety. 
Mrs.  Kendrick  was  less  sympathetic  in  word 
than  in  deed.  She  had  known  George  Denham 
since  he  was  a  little  boy  in  short  clothes ;  and 
while  she  approved  of  him,  and  had  a  sort  of 
motherly  affection  for  him,  she  was  disposed  to 
be  critical,  as  are  most  women  who  have  the 
knack  of  management. 

"And  so  you've  come  back  dripping,  have 
you  ?  Well,  you  ain't  the  first  headstrong, 
high-strung  chap  that's  found  out  water  is  wet 
when  the  creek  blots  out  the  big  road,  I  reckon. 
I'm  no  duck  myself.  When  I  see  water,  I'm 
like  the  old  cat  in  the  corner ;  I  always  feel  like 
shaking  my  foot.  Kitty,  call  Bob  and  tell  him 
to  make  a  fire  in  the  big  room.  He 's  asleep,  I 
reckon,  and  you  '11  have  to  holler.  Set  a  nigger 
down  and  he 's  snoring  directly.  You  look 
pale,"  Mrs.  Kendrick  continued,  turning  to 
George.  "  You  must  have  gone  in  over  your 


BLUE  DAVE.  215 

ears.  I  should  think  a  drenching  like  that 
would  take  all  the  conceit  out  of  a  man." 

"  Well,  it  has  taken  it  all  out  of  me,  ma'am," 
said  George,  laughing.  Then  the  young  man 
told  Mrs.  Kendrick  of  his  misadventure,  and  of 
the  part  Blue  Dave  had  borne  in  it. 

"  He 's  the  nigger  that  roosted  on  top  of  my 
house,"  said  Mrs.  Felix,  bustling  around  and 
putting  a  kettle  of  water  on  the  fire.  "  Well, 
it's  a  roundabout  way  to  pay  for  his  lodging, 
but  it 's  the  best  he  could  do,  I  reckon.  Now, 
don't  you  worry  yourself,  George ;  in  ten  min- 
utes you'll  be  snug  in  bed,  and  then  you'll 
drink  a  cup  of  composition  tea,  and  to-morrow 
morning  you  '11  have  forgotten  all  about  trying 
to  make  a  spring  branch  out  of  Murder  Creek." 

As  the  successful  mistress  of  a  household, 
Mrs.  Kendrick  knew  precisely  what  was  neces- 
sary to  be  done.  There  was  no  hitch  in  her 
system,  no  delay  in  her  methods,  and  no  dis- 
puting her  remedies.  George  Denham  was  or- 
dered to  bed  as  if  he  had  been  a  child ;  and 
though  the  "  composition "  tea  was  hot  in  the 


216  BLUE  DAVE. 

mouth  and  bitter  to  the  palate,  it  was  useless 
to  protest  against  it.  As  a  consequence  of  all 
this,  the  young  man  was  soon  in  the  land  of 
dreams. 

When  everything  was  quiet,  Kitty  prepared  a 
very  substantial  lunch.  Then,  calling  her  little 
brother  Felix,  she  went  across  the  yard  to  the 
quarters,  and  stopped  at  Uncle  Manuel's  cabin. 
The  door  was  ajar,  and  Kitty  could  see  the  ven- 
erable old  negro  nodding  before  the  flickering 
embers.  She  went  in  and  called  his  name, — 

"  Uncle  Manuel ! " 

"Eh!  Who  dat?"  Then,  looking  around 
and  perceiving  Kitty,  the  old  negro's  weather- 
beaten  face  shone  with  a  broad  smile  of  surprise 
and  welcome.  "  Why,  honey  !  Why,  little  Mis- 
tiss !  How  come  dis  ?  You  makes  de  ole  nig- 
ger feel  proud;  dat  you  does.  I  fear'd  ter  ax 
vou  ter  set  down,  honey,  de  cheer  so  rickety." 

"  Uncle  Manuel,"  said  Kitty,  "  do  you  know 
Blue  Dave?" 

Uncle  Manuel  was  old,  and  wise,  and   cun- 

•J 

ning.     He  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying ; 


BLUE  DAVE.  217 

and  even  then  his  caution  would  not  allow  him 
to  commit  himself. 

"  Blue  Dave,  he 's  dat  ar  runaway  nigger,  ain't 
he,  honey?  I  done  year  talk  un  'im  lots  er 
times." 

"  Well,"  said  Kitty,  placing  her  basket  upon 
Uncle  Manuel's  tool-chest,  "here  is  something 
for  Blue  Dave  to  eat.  If  you  don't  see  him 
yourself,  perhaps  you  can  send  it  to  him  by  some 
one." 

Uncle  Manuel  picked  up  the  basket,  weighed 
it  in  his  hand,  and  then  placed  it  on  the  chest 
again.  Then  he  looked  curiously  at  Kitty,  and 
said,  — 

"  Honey,  how  come  you  gwine  do  dis  ?  Ain't 
you  year  tell  hit's  ag'in  de  law  fer  ter  feed  a 
runaway  nigger?" 

Kitty  blushed  as  she  thought  of  George  Den- 
ham.  "I  send  Blue  Dave  the  victuals  because 
I  choose  to,  Uncle  Manuel,"  she  said.  "  The  law 
has  nothing  to  do  with  that  little  basket." 

She  started  to  go,  but  Uncle  Manuel  raised 
both  hands  heavenwards. 


218  BLUE  DAVE. 

"  Wait,  little  Mistiss,"  he  cried,  the  tears  run- 
ning down  his  furrowed  face ;  "  des  wait,  little 
Mistiss.  'T  won't  hurt  you,  honey.  De  ole  nig- 
ger wuz  des  gwine  ter  git  down  ter  his  pra'rs 
'fo'  you  come  in.  Dey  ain't  no  riper  time  dan 
dis." 

Uncle  Manuel's  voice  was  husky  with  sup- 
pressed emotion.  With  his  hands  still  stretched 
toward  the  skies,  and  the  tears  still  running 
down  his  face,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  and  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  Saviour  en  Marster  er  de  worl ' !  draw  nigh 
dis  night  en  look  down  into  dis  ole  nigger's 
heart;  lissen  ter  de  humblest  er  de  humble. 
Blessed  Marster !  some  run  wild  en  some  go 
stray,  some  go  hether  en  some  go  yan' ;  but  all 
un  um  mus'  go  befo'  dy  mercy-seat  in  de  een'. 
Some  '11  fetch  big  works  en  some  '11  fetch  great 
deeds,  but  po'  ole  Manuel  won't  fetch  nothin' 
but  one  weak,  sinful  heart.  Dear,  blessed  Mars- 
ter! look  in  dat  heart  en  see  w'at  in  dar.  De 
sin  dat's  dar,  Lord,  blot  it  out  wid  dy  wounded 
ban'.  Dear  Marster,  bless  my  little  Mistiss. 


BLUE  DAVE.  219 

Her  comin's  en  her  gwines  is  des  like  one  er 
dy  angels  er  mercy  ;  she  scatters  bread  en  meat 
'mongs'  dem  w'at's  lonesome  in  der  ways,  en 
dem  w'at  runs  up  en  down  in  de  middle  er  big 
tribulation.  Saviour !  Marster !  look  down  'pon 
my  little  Mistiss ;  gedder  her  'nead  dy  hev'mly 
wings.  Ef  trouble  mus'  come,  let  it  come  'pon 
me.  I  'm  ole,  but  I  'm  tough ;  I  'm  ole,  but  I 
got  de  strenk.  Lord!  let  de  troubles  en  de 
trials  come  'pon  de  ole  nigger  w'at  kin  stan'  um, 
en  save  my  little  Mistiss  fum  sheddin'  one  tear. 
En  den,  at  de  las'  fetch  us  all  home  ter  hev'm, 
whar  dey  's  res'  fer  de  w'ary.  Amen." 

Never  in  her  life  before  had  Kitty  felt  so  thrill- 
ing a  sense  of  nearness  to  her  Creator  as  when 
Uncle  Manuel  was  offering  up  his  simple  prayer  ; 
and  she  went  out  of  the  humble  cabin  weeping 
gently. 


m. 


THE  four-mile  run  to  the  Denham  Plantation 
was  fun  for  Blue  Dave.  He  was  wet  and  cold, 
and  the  exercise  acted  as  a  lively  invigorant. 
Once,  as  he  sped  along,  he  was  challenged  by 
the  patrol ;  but  he  disappeared  like  a  shadow, 
and  came  into  the  road  again  a  mile  away, 
singing  to  himself, — 

Run,  nigger,  run !  patter-roller  ketch  you ; 
Hun,  nigger,  run  I  hit  'a  almos'  day ! 

He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  surround- 
ings at  the  Denham  Plantation,  having  been  fed 
many  a  time  by  the  well-cared-for  negroes ;  and 
he  had  no  hesitation  in  approaching  the  prem- 
ises. The  clouds  had  whirled  themselves  away, 
and  the  stars  told  him  it  was  ten  o'clock. 
There  was  a  light  in  the  sitting-room,  and  Blue 
Dave  judged  it  best  to  go  to  the  back  door.  He 


BLUE  DAVE.  221 

rapped  gently,  and  then  a  little  louder.  Ordi- 
narily the  door  would  have  been  opened  by 
the  trim  black  housemaid;  but  to-night  it  was 
opened  by  George  Denham's  mother,  a  prim  old 
lady  of  whom  everybody  stood  greatly  in  awe 
without  precisely  knowing  why.  She  looked 
out,  and  saw  the  gigantic  negro  looming  up  on 
the  doorsteps. 

"  Do  you  bring  news  of  my  son  ?  "  she  asked. 
The  voice  was  low,  but  penetrating;  and  the 
calm,  even  tones  told  the  story  of  a  will  too 
strong  to  tolerate  opposition  or  even  contra- 
diction. 

Blue  Dave  hesitated  out  of  sheer  embarrass- 
ment at  finding  such  cool  serenity  where  he 
had  probably  expected  to  find  grief  or  some 
such  excitement. 

"  Did  you  hear  me  speak  ?  "  the  prim  old  lady 
asked,  before  the  negro  had  time  to  gather  his 
wits.  "  Do  you  bring  me  news  of  my  son  ? " 

"Yessum,"  said  Blue  Dave,  scratching  his 
head;  "dat  w'at  I  come  fer.  Mars.  George 
gwine  ter  stay  at  de  Kendrick  Place  ter-night. 


222  BLUE  DAVE. 

I  speck  he  in  bed  by  dis  time,"  he  added  reas- 
suringly. 

"His  horse  has  come  home  without  buggy 
or  harness.  Is  my  son  hurt  ?  Don't  be  afraid 
to  tell  me  the  truth.  What  has  happened  to 
him?" 

How  could  the  poor  negro  —  how  could  any- 
body —  know  what  a  whirlwind  of  yearning  affec- 
tion, dread,  and  anxiety  was  raging  behind  these 
cool,  level  tones  ? 

"  Mistiss,  I  tell  you  de  trufe :  Mars.  George 
is  sorter  hurted,  but  he  ain't  hurted  much.  I 
met  'im  in  de  road,  en  I  tuck  'n'  tole  'im  dey  wuz 
a  freshet  in  Murder  Creek ;  but  he  des  laugh  at 
me,  en  he  driv'  in  des  like  dey  wa'n't  no  water 
dar ;  en  den  w'en  he  make  his  disappearance,  I 
tuck  'n'  splunge  in  atter  'im,  en  none  too  soon, 
n'er,  kaze  he  got  strucken  on  de  head  wid  a 
log,  en  w'en  I  fotch  'im  out,  he  'uz  all  dazzle 
up  like.  Yit  he  ain't  hurted  much,  Mistiss." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  the  prim  old  lady 
asked. 

"  Blue  Dave,  ma'am." 


BLUE  DAVE.  223 

"  The  runaway  ?" 

The  negro  hesitated,  looked  around,  and 
then  hung  down  his  head.  He  knew  the  calm, 
fearless  eyes  of  this  gentlewoman  were  upon 
him ;  he  felt  the  influence  of  her  firm  tones. 
She  repeated  her  question :  — 

"  Are  you  Blue  Dave,  the  runaway  ?  " 

"  Yessum." 

The  answer  seemed  to  satisfy  the  lady.  She- 
turned  and  called  Eliza,  the  housemaid. 

"  Eliza,  your  master's  supper  is  in  the  dining- 
room  by  the  fire.  Here  are  the  keys.  Take  it 
into  the  kitchen."  Then  she  turned  to  Blue 
Pave.  "  David,"  she  said,  "  go  into  the  kitchen 
and  eat  your  supper." 

Then  Eliza  was  sent  after  Ellick,  the  negro 
foreman ;  and  Ellick  was  not  long  in  finding  Blue 
Dave  a  suit  of  linsey-woolsey  clothes,  a  little 
warmer  and  a  little  drier  than  those  the  run- 
away was  in  the  habit  of  wearing.  Then  the 
big  grays  were  put  to  the  Denham  carriage, 
shawls  and  blankets  were  thrown  in,  and  Blue 
Dave  was  called. 


224  BLUE  DAVE. 

"  Have  you  had  your  supper,  David  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Denhara,  looking  grimmer  than  ever  as 
she  stood  on  her  veranda  arrayed  in  bonnet 
and  wraps. 

"  Thanky,  Mistiss  !  thanky,  ma'am.  I  ain't 
had  no  meal's  vittles  like  dat,  not  sence  I  lef 
Ferginny." 

"  Can  you  drive  a  carriage,  David  ? "  the  old 
lady  asked. 

"  Dat  I  kin,  Mistiss." 

Whereupon  he  seized  the  reins  and  let  down 
the  carriage  steps.  Mrs.  Denham  and  her  maid 
got  in ;  but  when  everything  was  ready,  Blue 
Dave  hesitated. 

"  Mistiss,"  he  said,  rather  sheepishly,  **  w'en 
I  come  'long  des  now,  de  patter-rollers  holler'd 
atter  me." 

"  No  matter,  David,"  the  grim  old  lady  re- 
plied; "your  own  master  wouldn't  order  you 
off  of  my  carriage." 

"Keep  yo'  eye  on  dat  off  hoss!"  exclaimed 
Ellick,  as  the  carriage  moved  off. 

"Hush,  honey,"  Blue  Dave  cried,  as  exult- 


BLUE  DAVE.  225 

antly  as  a  child ;  "  'fo'  dey  gits  ter  de  big  gate, 
I'll  know  deze  yer  bosses  better  dan  ef  dey 
wuz  my  br'er." 

After  that,  nothing  more  was  said.  The  road 
had  been  made  firm  and  smooth  by  the  heavy 
beating  rain,  and  the  carriage  swung  along 
easily  and  rapidly.  The  negro  housemaid  fell 
back  against  the  cushions,  and  was  soon  sound 
asleep;  but  Mrs.  Denham  sat  bolt-upright. 
Hers  was  an  uncompromising  nature,  it  had 
been  said,  and  certainly  it  seemed  so ;  but  as 
the  carriage  rolled  along,  there  grew  before  her 
mind's  eye  the  vague,  dim  outlines  of  a  vision, — 
a  vision  of  a  human  creature  hiding  in  the  dark 
swamps,  fleeing  through  the  deep  woods  and 
creeping  swiftly  through  the  pine  thickets.  It 
was  a  pathetic  figure,  this  fleeing  human  crea- 
ture, whether  chased  by  dogs  and  men  or  pur- 
sued only  by  the  terrors  that  hide  themselves 
behind  the  vast  shadows  of  the  night ;  and  the 
figure  grew  more  pathetic  when,  as  it  seemedr 
it  sprang  out  of  the  very  elements  themselves 
to  snatch  her  son  from  the  floods.  The  old 

15 


:226  BLUE  DAVE. 

lady  sighed  and  pressed  her  thin  lips  together. 
-She  had  made  up  her  mind. 

Presently  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  Ken- 
•drick  Place ;  and  in  a  little  while,  after  effusive 
greetings  all  around,  Mrs.  Denham  was  sitting 
.at  Mrs.  Kendrick's  hearth  listening  to  the  story 
•of  her  son's  rescue.  She  wanted  to  go  in  and 
see  George  at  once,  but  Mrs.  Kendrick  would 
consent  only  on  condition  that  he  was  not  to 
be  aroused. 

"It  is  foolish  to  say  it,"  said  the  old  lady, 
smiling  at  Kitty  as  she  came  out  of  the  room  in 
which  her  son  was  sleeping ;  "  but  my  son  seems 
to  look  to-night  just  as  he  did  when  a  baby." 

Kitty  smiled  such  a  responsive  smile,  and 
looked  so  young  and  beautiful,  that  the  proud 
old  lady  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  think  I  shall  love  you,  my  dear." 

"  I  reckon  I  '11  have  to  get  even  with  you," 
said  Mrs.  Kendrick,  who  had  a  knack  of  hiding 
her  own  emotion,  "  by  telling  George  that  I  Ve 
iallen  in  love  with  him." 

This  gave  a  light  and  half-humorous  turn  to  af- 


BLUE  DAVE.  227 

fairs,  and  in  a  moment  Mrs.  Denham  was  as  prim 
and  as  uncompromising  in  appearance  as  ever. 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kendrick,  after  she 
and  Kitty  had  retired  for  the  night,  "  the  day 's 
worth  living  if  only  to  find  out  that  Rebecca 
Denham  has  got  a  heart  in  her  insides.  I  be- 
lieve actually  she  'd  'a'  cried  for  a  little." 

"  She  did  cry,  mother,"  said  Kitty,  solemnly. 
"  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  when  she  leaned 
over  me." 

"  Well,  well,  well ! "  said  Mrs.  Kendrick,  "  she 

always  put  me  in  mind  of  a  ghost  that  can't  be  

laid  on  account  of  its  pride.  But  we'r,e  what 
the  Lord  made  us,  I  reckon,  and  people  deceive 
their  looks.  My  old  turkey  gobbler  is  harm- 
less as  a  hound  puppy ;  but  I  reckon  he  'd  bust 
if  he  did  n't  up  and  strut  when  strangers  are  in 
the  front  porch." 

With  that  Mrs.  Kendrick  addressed  herself 
to  her  prayers  and  to  slumber;  but  Kitty  lay 
awake  a  long  time,  thinking  and  thinking,  un- 
til finally  her  thoughts  became  the  substance? 
of  youth's  sweetest  dreams. 


IV. 


BUT  why  should  the  tender  dreams  of  thia 
pure  heart  be  transcribed  here  ?  Indeed,  why 
should  these  vague  outlines  be  spun  out  to  the 
vanishing  point,  like  the  gossamer  threads  that 
float  and  glance  and  disappear  in  the  Septem- 
ber skies?  Some  of  the  grandchildren  of 
George  Denham  and  Kitty  Kendrick  will  read 
these  pages,  and  wonder,  romantic  youngsters 
that  they  are,  why  all  the  love  passages  have 
been  suppressed ;  other  readers,  more  practical 
and  perhaps  severer,  will  ask  themselves  what 
possible  interest  there  can  be  in  the  narrative 
of  a  simple  episode  in  the  life  of  a  humble 
fugitive.  What  reply  can  be  made,  what  ex- 
planation can  be  offered  ?  Fortunately,  what 
remains  to  be  told  may  mostly  be  put  in  the 
sententious  language  of  Brother  Johnny  Roach. 


BLUE  DAVE.  229 

One  day,  shortly  after  the  events  which 
have  been  described,  Brother  Brannum  rode 
up  to  Brother  Roach's  mill,  dismounted,  and 
hitched  his  horse  to  the  rack. 

"  You  're  mighty  welcome,  Brother  Brannum," 
said  Brother  Roach  from  the  door,  as  cheerful 
under  his  covering  of  meal  dust  as  the  clown 
in  the  pantomime;  "you're  mighty  welcome. 
I  had  as  lief  talk  to  my  hopper  as  i%  most  folks ; 
but  the  hopper  knows  me  by  heart,  and  I  das- 
sent  take  too  many  liberties  wi'  it.  Come  in, 
Brother  Brannum ;  there 's  no  great  head  of 
water  on,  and  the  gear  is  running  soberly.  Sat'- 
days,  when  all  the  rocks  are  moving,  my  mill  is 
a  female  woman;  the  clatter  is  turrible.  I'll 
not  deny  it.  I  hope  you  're  well,  Brother  Bran- 
num. And  Sister  Brannum.  I  '11  never  forgit 
the  savor  of  her  Sunday  dumplings,  not  if  I 
live  a  thousand  year." 

"  We  're  well  as  common,  Brother  Roachr 
well  as  common.  Yit  a  twitch  here  and  a 
twinge  there  tells  us  we  're  moving  along 
to'rds  eternity.  It's  age  that's  a-feeling  of 


'230  BLUE  DAVE, 

us,  Brother  Roach;  and  when  we're  ripe  it'll 
pluck  us." 

"  It 's  age  ruther  than  the  dumplings,  that  I  '11 
take  the  stand  on,"  exclaimed  Brother  Roach. 
"  Yit,  when  it  comes  to  that,  look  at  Mizzers 
Denham ;  that  woman  kin  look  age  out  of  coun- 
tenance any  day.  Then  there 's  Giner'l  Bled- 
*er;  who  more  nimble  at  a  muster  than  the 
Gener'l  ?  I  see  'em  both  this  last  gone  Sat'day, 
And  though  I  was  in-about  up  to  my  eyes  in 
the  toll-bin,  I  relished  the  seeing  and  the  hear- 
ing of  'em.  But  I  reckon  you've  heard  the  news, 
Brother  Brannum,"  said  Brother  Roach,  modestly 
deprecating  his  own  sources  of  information. 

"  Bless  you !  Not  me,  Brother  Roach,"  said 
Brother  Brannum ;  "  I  've  heard  no  news. 
Down  in  my  settlement  I'm  cut  off  from  the 
world.  Let  them  caper  as  they  may,  we  're  not 
pestered  wi'  misinformation." 

"  No,  nor  me  nuther,  Brother  Brannum,"  said 
Brother  Roach,  "  bekaze  it 's  as  much  as  I  can 
do  for  to  listen  at  the  racket  of  my  mill.  Yit 
..there  are  some  sights  meal  dust  won't  begin  to 


BLUE  DAVE.  231 

hide,  and  some  talk  the  clatter  of  the  hopper 
won't  nigh  drown." 

"  What  might  they  be,  Brother  Roach  ? " 
Brother  Brannum  brushed  the  dust  off  a  box 
with  his  coat-tails,  and  sat  down. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Brother  Roach,  pushing  his 
hat  back,  and  placing  his  thumbs  behind  his 
suspenders,  "last  Sat'day  gone  I  was  a-hurry- 
ing  to  and  fro,  when  who  should  pop  in  at  the 
door  but  Giner'l  Bledser? 

"  *  Hello,  Johnny ! '  says  he,  free  and  familiar. 

"  *  Howdy,  Giner'l,'  says  I.  '  You  look  holp 
up,  speaking  off-hand,'  says  I. 

"  *  That  I  am,  Johnny,  that  I  am,'  says  he ; 
'I've  made  a  trade  that  makes  me  particular 
proud,'  says  he. 

" « How 's  that,  Giner'l  ? '  says  I. 

"  '  Why,  I  've  sold  Blue  Dave,'  says  he  ;  *  eight 
year  ago,  I  bought  him  for  five  hundred  dollars, 
and  now  I  've  sold  him  to  Mizzers  Denham  for 
a  thousand,'  says  he.  *  I  Ve  got  the  cold  cash 
in  my  pocket,  and  now  let  'em  ketch  the  nigger,' 
says  he. 


232  BLUE  DAVE. 

" '  Well,  Giner'l,'  says  I,  '  it  '11  be  time  for  to 
marvel  arter  you  see  the  outcome,  bekaze,'  says 
I,  'when  there's  business  in  the  wind,  Mizzers 
Denham  is  as  long-headed  and  as  cle'r-sighted 
as  a  Philadelphia  lawyer,'  says  I. 

"  And  (would  you  believe  it,  Brother  Bran- 
num?)  the  outcome  happened  then  and  there 
right  before  our  very  face  and  eyes." 

"In  what  regards,  Brother  Roach?"  said 
Brother  Brannum,  rubbing  his  bony  hands  to- 
gether. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  glanced  my  eye  out  of  the  door, 
and  I  see  the  Denham  carriage  coming  down 
yan  hill.  I  p'inted  it  out  to  the  Giner'l,  and  he 
ups  and  says,  says  he, — 

" '  Davy,  though  she  may  be  a-going  to  town 
for  to  sue  me  for  damages,  yit,  if  Mizzers  Den- 
ham's  in  that  carriage,  I'll  salute  her  now,' 
says  he ;  and  then  he  took  his  stand  in  the  door, 
as  frisky  as  a  colt  and  as  smiling  as  a  basket 
of  chips.  As  they  come  up,  I  tetch'd  the  Giner'l 
on  the  shoulder. 

" '  Giner'l,'   says  I,   '  look   clost  at  that  nig- 


BLUE  DAVE.  233 

ger  on  the  carriage, — look  clost  at  him,' 
says  I. 

"  '  Why,  what  the  thunderation ! '  says  he. 

" '  To  be  certain  ! '  says  I ;  *  that 's  your  Blue 
Dave,  and  he  looks  mighty  slick,'  says  I. 

"  The  Giner'l  forgot  for  to  say  howdy,"  con- 
tinued Brother  Roach,  laughing  until  he  began 
to  wheeze ;  "  but  Mizzers  Denham,  she  leant  out 
of  the  carriage  window,  and  said,  says  she,  — 

"  '  Good-  morning,  Giner'l,  good  -  morning  ! 
David  is  a  most  excellent  driver,'  says  she. 

"The  Giner'l  managed  for  to  take  off  his 
hat,  but  he  was  in-about  the  worst  whipped-out 
white  man  I  ever  see.  And  arter  the  carriage 
got  out  of  hearing,  sir,  he  stood  in  that  there 
door  there  and  cussed  plump  tell  he  couldn't 
cuss.  When  a  man's  been  to  Congress  and 
back,  he 's  liable  for  to  know  how  to  take  the 
name  of  the  Lord  in  vain.  But  don't  tell  me 
about  the  wimmen,  Brother  Brannum.  Don't ! " 

Blue  Dave  was  happy  at  last.  He  became  a 
great  favorite  with  everybody.  His  voice  was 


234  BLUE  DAVE. 

the  loudest  at  the  corn-shucking,  his  foot  was 
the  nimblest  at  the  plantation  frolics,  his  row 
was  the  straightest  and  the  cleanest  in  the  cot- 
ton-patch, his  hand  was  the  firmest  on  the  car- 
riage-seat, his  arm  was  the  strongest  at  the 
log-rolling.  When  his  old  mistress  came  to 
die,  her  wandering  mind  dwelt  upon  the  negro 
who  had  served  her  so  faithfully.  She  fancied 
she  was  making  a  journey. 

"  The  carriage  goes  smoothly  along  here," 
she  said.  Then,  after  a  little  pause  she  asked, 
"  Is  David  driving  ? "  and  the  weeping  negro 
cried  out  from  a  corner  of  the  room, — 

"  'T  ain't  po'  Dave,  Mistiss !  De  good  Lord 
done  tuck  holt  er  de  lines." 

And  so,  dreaming  as  a  little  child  would 
dream,  the  old  lady  slipped  from  life  into  the 
beatitudes,  if  the  smiles  of  the  dead  mean  any- 
thing. 


A    PIECE    OF    LAND. 


A  PIECE   OF  LAND. 


THE  history  of  Pinetucky  District  in  Putnam 
County  is  preserved  in  tradition  only,  but  its 
records  are  not  less  savory  on  that  account. 
The  settlement  has  dispersed  and  disappeared, 
and  the  site  of  it  is  owned  and  occupied  by  a 
busy  little  man,  who  wears  eyeglasses  and  a 
bob-tailed  coat,  and  who  is  breeding  Jersey  cat- 
tle and  experimenting  with  ensilage.  It  is  well 
for  this  little  man's  peace  of  mind  that  the  dis- 
persion was  an  accomplished  fact  before  he 
made  his  appearance.  The  Jersey  cattle  would 
have  been  winked  at,  and  the  silo  regarded  as 
an  object  of  curiosity;  but  the  eyeglasses  and 
the  bob-tailed  coat  would  not  have  been  toler- 
ated. But  if  Pinetucky  had  its  peculiarities,  it 
also  had  its  advantages.  It  was  pleased  with 


238  A  PIECE   OF  LAND. 

its  situation  and  surroundings,  and  was  not  puz- 
zled, as  a  great  many  people  have  since  been, 
as  to  the  origin  of  its  name.  In  brief,  Pine- 
tucky  was  satisfied  with  itself.  It  was  a 
sparsely  settled  neighborhood,  to  be  sure,  but 
the  people  were  sociable  and  comparatively 
comfortable.  They  could  remain  at  home,  so 
to  speak,  and  attend  the  militia  musters,  and 
they  were  in  easy  reach  of  a  church-building 
which  was  not  only  used  by  all  denominations  — 
Methodists,  Baptists,  and  Presbyterians  —  as  a 
house  of  worship,  but  was  made  to  serve  as  a 
schoolhouse.  So  far  as  petty  litigation  was 
concerned,  Squire  Ichabod  Inchly,  the  wheel- 
wright, was  prepared  to  hold  justice-court  in  the 
open  air  in  front  of  his  shop  when  the  weather 
was  fine,  and  in  any  convenient  place  when  the 
weather  was  foul.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  would  say, 
when  a  case  came  before  him,  "I'd  a  heap 
ruther  shoe  a  horse  or  shrink  a  tire ;  yit  if  you 
will  have  the  law,  I  '11  try  and  temper  it  wi'  jes- 
tice."  This  was  the  genuine  Pinetucky  spirit, 
and  all  true  Pinetuckians  tried  to  live  up  to  it. 


A  PIECE   OF  LArfD.  239 

When  occasion  warranted  they  followed  the 
example  of  larger  communities  and  gossiped 
about  each  other;  but  rural  gossip  is  oftener 
harmless  than  not;  besides,  it  is  a  question 
whether  gossip  does  not  serve  a  definite  moral 
purpose.  If  our  actions  are  to  be  taken  note 
of  by  people  whose  good  opinion  is  worth  striv- 
ing for,  the  fact  serves  as  a  motive  and  a  cue 
for  orderly  behavior. 

Yet  it  should  be  said  that  the  man  least  re- 
spected by  the  Pinetuckians  was  the  man  least 
gossiped  about.  This  was  Bradley  Gaither, 
the  richest  man  in  the  neighborhood.  With 
few  exceptions,  all  the  Pinetuckians  owned  land 
and  negroes ;  but  Bradley  Gaither  owned  more 
land  and  more  negroes  than  the  most  of  them 
put  together.  No  man,  to  all  appearances,  led 
a  more  correct  life  than  Bradley  Gaither.  He 
was  first  at  church,  and  the  last  to  leave;  he 
even  affected  a  sort  of  personal  interest  in 
politics;  but  the  knack  of  addressing  himself 
to  the  respect  and  esteem  of  his  neighbors  he 
lacked  altogether.  He  was  not  parsimonious, 


240  A   PIECE  OF  LAND. 

but,  as  Squire  Inchly  expressed  it,  "  narrer- 
jninded  in  money-matters."  He  had  the  air  of 

man  who  is  satisfied  with  himself  rather  than 
with  the  world,  and  the  continual  exhibition  of 
this  species  of  selfishness  is  apt  to  irritate  the 
most  simple-minded  spectator.  Lacking  the 
sense  of  humor  necessary  to  give  him  a  knowl- 
edge of  his  own  relations  to  his  neighbors,  he 
lived  under  the  impression  that  he  was  not  only 
.one  of  the  most  generous  of  men,  but  the  most 
popular.  He  insisted  upon  his  rights.  If  peo- 
ple made  bad  bargains  when  they  traded  with 
him,  —  and  he  allowed  them  to  make  no  other 
kind,  —  they  must  stand  or  fall  by  them. 
Where  his  lands  joined  those  of  his  neighbors, 
there  was  always  "  a  lane  for  the  rabbits,"  as 
the  saying  is.  He  would  join  fences  with  none 
of  them.  Indeed,  he  was  a  surly  neighbor, 
though  he  did  not  even  suspect  the  fact. 

He  had  one  weakness,  —  a  greed  for  land. 
If  he  drove  hard  bargains,  it  was  for  the  pur- 
pose of  adding  to  his  landed  possessions.  He 
overworked  and  underfed  his  negroes  in  order 


A   PIECE   OF  LAND.  241 

that  he  might  buy  more  land.  Day  and  night 
he  toiled,  and  planned,  and  pinched  himself 
and  the  people  around  him  to  gratify  his  land- 
hunger. 

Bradley  Gaither  had  one  redeeming  feature, 
—  his  daughter  Rose.  For  the  sake  of  this 
daughter  Pinetucky  was  willing  to  forgive  him 
a  great  many  things.  To  say  that  Rose  Gaither 
was  charming  or  lovely,  and  leave  the  matter 
there,  would  ill  become  even  the  casual  histo- 
rian of  Pinetucky.  She  was  lovely,  but  her 
loveliness  was  of  the  rare  kind  that  shows  it- 
self in  strength  of  character  as  well  as  in 
beauty  of  form  and  feature.  In  the  apprecia- 
tive eyes  of  the  Pinetuckians  she  seemed  to 
invest  womanhood  with  a  new  nobility.  She 
possessed  dignity  without  vanity,  and  her  can- 
dor was  tempered  by  a  rare  sweetness  that  won 
all  hearts.  She  carried  with  her  that  myste- 
rious flavor  of  romance  that  belongs  to  the 
perfection  of  youth  and  beauty  ;  and  there  are 
old  men  in  Rockville  to-day,  sitting  in  the  sun- 
shine on  the  street  corners  and  dreaming  of 

16 


242  A  PIECE  OF  LAND. 

the  past,  whose  eyes  will  kindle  with  enthusiasm 
at  mention  of  Rose  Gaither's  name. 

But  in  1840  Bradley  Gaither's  beautiful 
daughter  was  not  by  any  means  the  only  repre- 
sentative of  womankind  in  Pinetucky.  There 
was  Miss  Jane  Inchly,  to  go  no  further.  Miss 
Jane  was  Squire  Inchly's  maiden  sister ;  and 
though  she  was  neither  fat  nor  fair,  she  was 
forty.  Perhaps  she  was  more  than  forty;  but 
if  she  was  fifty  she  was  not  ashamed  of  it. 
She  had  a  keen  eye  and  a  sharp  tongue,  and 
used  both  with  a  freedom  befitting  her  sex  and 
her  experience. 

Squire  Inchly's  house  was  convenient  to  his 
shop ;  and  just  opposite  lived  the  Carews,  father 
and  son,  once  the  most  prosperous  and  prom- 
inent family  in  the  neighborhood.  It  was  the 
custom  of  Pinetucky  to  take  a  half-holiday  on 
Saturdays,  and  on  one  of  these  occasions 
Squire  Inchly,  instead  of  going  to  his  shop  or 
to  the  store,  sat  in  his  porch  and  smoked  his 
pipe.  After  awhile  Miss  Jane  brought  out  her 
sewing  and  sat  with  him.  Across  the  way, 


A   PIECE  OF  LAND.  243 

Cncle  Billy  Carew  sat  in  his  easy-chair  under 
the  shade  of  a  tree,  and  made  queer  gestures 
in  the  air  with  his  hands  and  cane,  while  his 
son,  a  young  man  of  twenty-five  or  thereabouts, 
paced  moodily  up  and  down  the  veranda.  The 
birds  fluttered  in  and  out  of  the  hedges  of 
Cherokee  rose  that  ran  along  both  sides  of  the 
road,  and  over  all  the  sun  shone  brightly. 

"Billy  is  cuttin'  up  his  antics  ag'in,"  said 
the  Squire,  finally.  "  First  the  limbs  give  way, 
and  then  the  mind.  It's  Providence,  I  reckon. 
We're  all  a-gittin'  old." 

"Why,  you  talk,  Ichabod,  as  if  Providence 
went  around  with  a  drink  of  dram  in  one  hand 
and  a  stroke  of  palsy  in  t'  other  one,"  said  Miss 
Jane.  "It's  the  Old  Boy  that  totes  the  dram. 
And  don't  you  pester  yourself  on  account  of 
old  Billy  Carew's  palsy.  A  man's  nimble 
enough  in  the  legs  when  he  can  git  to  the 
dimmy-john." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  for  Jack,  Sister  Jane," 
exclaimed  the  Squire,  heartily.  "I  am,  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart.  The  boy  is  too  lone- 


244  A  PIECE  OF  LAND. 

some  in  his  ways.  He  needs  comp'ny;  he 
needs  to  be  holp  up,  Sister  Jane.  He  does, 
certain  and  shore." 

"  Well,  we  're  all  near-sighted ;  but  when  I  'm 
in  trouble,  I  'm  like  a  hen  a-layin' ;  I  don't 
want  nobody  to  stand  around  and  watch  me. 
Not  even  them  that  feeds  me.  The  Lord  knows 
what  he  keeps  old  Billy  Carew  here  to  fret 
poor  Jack  for,  but  I  don't,"  continued  Miss 
Jane,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  'm  much  mistaken  if  that 
old  creetur  hain't  got  years  before  him  to  drink 
and  dribble  in." 

"It  passes  me,  Sister  Jane,"  said  Squire 
Inchly,  moving  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  It 
passes  me,  certain  and  shore.  Here  was  Billy, 
rich  and  healthy,  Jack  at  college  and  ever'thing 
a-runninj  slick  and  smooth,  when  nothin'  must 
do  but  the  old  creetur  must  take  to  the  jug, 
and  it 's  gone  on  and  gone  on,  till  old  Bradley 
Gaither  owns  in-about  all  the  Carew  plantation 
that's  wuth  ownin'.  Maybe  it  was  Billy's  wife 
driv  him  to  it,  Sister  Jane." 

u  I   say    the  word ! "    exclaimed  Miss 


A  PIECE  OF  LAND.  245 

scornfully,  —  "I  say  the  word!  How  could  a 
little  bit  of  a  dried-up  'oman  drive  a  grown 
man  to  drink  ?  " 

"They  are  a  heap  livelier  than  they  look  to 
be,  Sister  Jane,"  said  the  Squire,  reassuringly. 
"  Little  as  she  was,  I  lay  Billy  Carew's  wife 
had  her  say." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Jane,  «  a  mouse '11  squeal  if 
you  tromple  on  it." 

Squire  Inchly  had  a  jovial  appearance  or- 
dinarily ;  but  when  he  found  it  necessary  to 
wrestle  with  the  moral  problems  that  the  sharp 
tongue  of  his  sister  presented  to  his  mind,  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  putting  on  his  spectacles,  as 
if  by  that  means  to  examine  them  more  im- 
partially. He  put  his  spectacles  on  now,  and 
with  them  a  severe  judicial  frown. 

"That's  the  trouble,  Sister  Jane,  — that's  the 
trouble,"  he  said  after  awhile.  "  The  mouse  '11 
squeal  and  squeal,  but  where 's  the  man  that 
ever  got  use  to  sech  squealin'  ? " 

"Don't  pester  the  mouse  then,"  said  Miss 
Jane,  sententiously. 


246  A   PIECE   OF  LAND. 

"  Old  Bradley  Gaither,"  remarked  the  Squire, 
showing  a  disposition  to  wander  away  from  a 
dangerous  discussion,  — "  Old  Bradley  Gaither 
ain't  only  got  mighty  nigh  all  the  Carew  plan- 
tation, but  he's  hot  arter  the  balance  of  it. 
Last  sale-day,  he  took  me  off  behind  the  Court- 
house, and,  says  he, — 

"'Square,'  says  he, 'I'd  like  mighty  well  for 
to  git  that  Carew  place,'  says  he. 

"'Why,  Mr.  Gaither,'  says  I,  'you've  in- 
abotit  got  it  all  now,'  says  I. 

"  '  Square  Ichabod,'  says  he, '  it 's  only  a  mat- 
ter of  two  hundred  acres  or  thereabouts,  and  it 
cuts  right  spang  into  my  plantation,'  says 
he. 

" '  Well,'  says  I,  '  twf  hundred  acres  hain't 
much,  yit  arter  all  it 's  a  piece  of  land,'  says  I. 

"  '  That 's  so,'  says  he, '  but  I  want  that  land, 
and  I  'm  williii'  for  to  pay  reasonable.  I  want 
you  to  buy  it  for  me,  Square,'  says  he. 

"  Right  across  from  where  we  sot,"  the 
Squire  continued,  taking  off  his  spectacles,  "  old 
Billy  Carew  was  a  cuttin'  up  and  singin'  his 


A  PIECE  OF  LAND.  247 

worldly-reminded  songs,  and  Jack  was  a-tryin* 
for  to  git  him  off  home. 

"'Mr.  Gaither,'  says  I,  'do  you  want  to 
crowd  that  poor  old  creetur  out  'n  the  county  ? ' 
says  I.  'And  look  at  Jack;  you  won't  find  a 
better-favored  youngster,'  says  I. 

"  I  disremember  what  he  said,"  the  Squire 
went  on ;  "  but  when  I  named  Jack  he  puckered 
up  them  thin  lips  of  his'n  like  he  was  fortifyin' 
his  mind  ag'in  anger.  I  didn't  let  on  about 
Rose  and  Jack,  Sister  Jane,  but  I  reckon  Mr. 
Gaither  has  got  his  suspicions.  No  doubt  he 
has  got  his  suspicions,  Sister  Jane." 

"Ichabod,"  said  Miss  Jane,  scratching  her 
head  with  the  long  teeth  of  her  tucking-comb, 
"  you  're  too  old  to  be  made  a  tool  of.  Let  old 
Bradley  Gaither  do  his  own  buyin'  and  sellin'. 
That  old  scamp  is  deep  as  a  well.  Them  that 
did  n't  know  him  'd  think  he  was  sanctified ;  yit 
he's  got  devilment  enough  in  him  to  break 
the  winders  out'n  the  meetin'-house.  Well, 
he  needn't  pester  wi'  Jack  and  Rose,"  Miss 
Jane  went  on;  "Jack '11  never  marry  Rose 


248  A   PIECE   OF  LAND. 

whiles  old  Billy  Carew  is  hoppin'  along  betwixt 
the  grocery  and  the  graveyard.  Lord,  Lord ! 
to  think  that  sech  a  no-'count  old  creetur  as 
that  should  be  a-ha'ntin'  the  face  of  the 
earth ! " 

"He  took  to  fiddlin'  and  drinkin'  arter  he 
was  fifty  year  old,"  remarked  the  Squire. 

"Yes,  and  the  property  he  hain't  drunk  up, 
he  's  fiddled  away,  till  now  he  hain't  got  nothin' 
but  a  passel  of  half-free  niggers  and  a  little 
piece  of  land,  and  old  Bradley  Gaither  is  hon- 
gry  for  that.  And  that  ain't  all,"  exclaimed 
Miss  Jane,  solemnly ;  "  Jack  is  ruined,  and  Rose 
is  distracted." 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  Squire. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Jane.  "  Trouble  is  always 
double  and  thribble.  Rose  was  here  last  Tues- 
day, and  she  sot  by  the  winder  there  and 
watched  Jack  all  the  time  she  stayed. 

" l  That 's  what  I  call  courtship  at  long  taw,' 

8' I. 

" «  Yes,  Miss  Jane,'  se'  she,  *  it  is,  and  I  'm  in 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  about  Jack.  I  under- 


A  PIECE  OF  LAND.  249 

stand  him,  but  he  don't  understand  me,'  se'  she. 
'He's  mad  because  my  father  loaned  his  father 
money  and  then  took  land  to  pay  for  it.  But 
I  'd  marry  Jack,'  se'  she,  *  if  only  to  give  him 
his  land  back.' 

"  I  declare ! "  Miss  Jane  continued,  "  't  would 
'a'  melted  airy  heart  in  the  universe  to  see  that 
child  blushin'  an'  cryin'.  I  went  and  stood  by 
her  and  put  my  arms  round  her,  and  I  says  to 
her,  s'l, — 

"  *  Don't  you  fret,  honey,  don't  you  fret.  Old 
Billy  Carew  is  full  of  capers  and  vain  babblin's,' 
s'  I,  *  and  your  pappy  is  puffed  up  by  his  fleshly 
mind ;  but  the  Almighty,  he 's  a-watchin'  'em. 
He '11  fetch  'em  up  wi'  a  round  turn,'  s'  I ;  'He 
knows  how  to  deal  wi'  unreasonable  and 
wicked  men.'  I  said  them  very  words." 

"  Saint  Paul  said  'em  before  you,  Sister  Jane, 
but  you  said  'em  right,  —  you  said  'em  right," 
exclaimed  Squire  Inchly,  heartily. 

"  Well,  I  don't  set  up  to  judge  nobody,  but  I 
don't  need  no  spyglass  for  to  see  what 's  right 
in  front  of  my  face,"  said  Miss  Jane. 


250  A  PIECE   OF  LAND. 

Thus  these  two  old  people  sat  and  talked 
about  the  affairs  of  their  friends  and  neighbors, 
—  affairs  in  which  £hey  might  be  said  to  have 
almost  a  personal  interest.  The  conversation 
turned  to  other  matters;  but  across  the  way 
they  saw  enacted  some  of  the  preliminaries  and 
accompaniments  of  a  mysterious  complication 
that  finally  became  as  distressing  and  as  dis- 
astrous as  a  tragedy. 

Old  Billy  Carew  continued  to  gesticulate  with 
his  cane  and  to  talk  to  himself.  He  desired  no 
other  audience.  One  moment  he  would  be  con- 
vulsed with  laughter ;  then  he  would  draw  him- 
self up  proudly,  wave  his  hand  imperiously,  and 
seem  to  be  laying  down  a  proposition  that 
demanded  great  deliberation  of  thought  and 
accuracy  of  expression.  After  awhile  his  son, 
apparently  growing  tired  of  the  humiliating 
spectacle,  left  his  father  to  himself,  and  went 
over  to  Squire  Inchly's. 

Jack  Carew  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
Squire  and  his  sister.  Miss  Jane  had  petted 
him  as  a  boy;  indeed,  after  the  death  of  his 


A  PIECE  OF  LAND.  251 

own  mother,  she  had  maintained  towards  him 
the  relations  of  a  foster-mother.  His  in- 
stinct had  told  him,  even  when  a  child,  that 
the  asperity  of  Miss  Inchly  was  merely  the 
humorous  mask  of  a  gentle  and  sensitive 
heart. 

As  he  flung  himself  wearily  in  the  chair 
which  Miss  Jane  had  been  quick  to  provide, 
he  seemed,  notwithstanding  his  dejection,  to 
be  a  very  handsome  specimen  of  manhood. 
His  hair  was  dark,  his  eyes  large  and  lustrous, 
his  nose  straight  and  firm,  and  his  chin  square 
and  energetic.  His  face  was  smooth-shaven, 
and  but  for  the  glow  of  health  in  his  cheeks, 
his  complexion  would  have  been  sallow. 

"Father  has  gone  to  the  legislature  again," 
he  said  with  a  faint  apologetic  smile  and  a 
motion  of  the  hand  toward  the  scene  of  the 
poor  old  man's  alcoholic  eloquence. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Jane,  soothingly,  "  he 
hain't  the  first  poor  creetur  that 's  flung  his  wel- 
fare to  the  winds.  The  Old  Boy's  might)' 
busy  in  these  days,  but  the  Almighty  hain't 


252  A  PIECE  OF  LAND. 

dead  yit,  I  reckon,  and  he'll  come  along  the- 
reckly  and  set  things  to  rights." 

The  young  man's  face  grew  gloomy  as  he 
looked  across  the  way  at  his  homestead.  The 
house  was  showing  signs  of  neglect,  and  the 
fences  were  falling  away  here  and  there.  The 
jagged  splinters  of  a  tall  oak  whose  top  had 
been  wrenched  off  by  a  storm  were  outlined 
against  the  sky,  and  an  old  man  babbled  and 
dribbled  near  by.  On  the  hither  side  the 
Cherokee  roses  bloomed  and  the  birds  sang. 
It  seemed  as  if  some  horrible  nightmare  had 
thrust  itself  between  Jack  Garew  and  the  sweet 
dreams  of  his  youth. 

"  I  trust  you  are  right,  Miss  Jane,"  said 
Jack,  after  a  long  pause ;  "  but  He  will  have  to 
come  soon  if  He  sets  my  affairs  to  rights." 

"  Don't  git  down-hearted,  Jack,"  exclaimed 
Miss  Jane,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  young 
man's  arm  with  a  motherly  touch.  "  Them 
that's  big-hearted  and  broad-shouldered  hain't 
got  much  to  be  afear'd  of  in  this  world.  Have 
you  forgot  Rose  Gaither,  Jack  ? " 


A   PIECE   OF  LAND.  253 

"  I  have  n't  forgotten  Bradley  Gaither,"  said 
Jack,  frowning  darkly,  "  and  I  won't  forget  him 
in  a  day,  you  may  depend.  Bradley  Gaither 
is  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  misery  you  see 
there."  The  young  man  made  a  gesture  that 
included  the  whole  horizon. 

"  Ah,  Jack  I "  exclaimed  Miss  Jane,  solemnly, 
"  I  won't  deny  but  what  old  Bradley  Gaither 
is  been  mighty  busy  runnin'  arter  the  rudiments 
of  the  world,  but  the  time  was  when  you  'd  kin- 
dle up  at  the  bare  mention  of  Rose  Gaither's 
name." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  truth,  Miss  Jane  ? " 
asked  Jack  Carew,  turning  to  Miss  Inchly  with 
a  frank,  but  bashful  smile. 

"  You  've  never  failed  to  do  that,  Jack,  when 
the  pinch  come." 

"  Well,  this  is  the  pinch,  then.  But  for  Rose 
Gaither  I  should  have  sold  out  here  when  I 
first  found  how  matters  stood.  I  could  easily 
sell  out  now  —  to  Bradley  Gaither." 

"That's  so,  Jack,  you  could,"  said  Squire 
Inchly,  who  had  been  a  sympathetic  listener. 


254  A   PIECE   OF  LAND. 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  could ;  there  ain't  no  two  ways 
about  that." 

"  But  I  would  n't  and  I  won't,"  continued 
Jack.  "Everybody  around  here  knows  my 
troubles,  and  I  propose  to  stay  here.  I  have  n't 
forgotten  Rose  Gaither,  Miss  Jane,  but  I'm 
afraid  she  has  forgotten  me.  She  has  changed 
greatly." 

"  You  look  in  the  glass,"  said  Miss  Jane, 
with  a  knowing  toss  of  the  head,  "and  you'll 
see  where  the  change  is.  Rose  was  here  t'  other 
day,  and  she  stood  right  in  that  room  there, 
behind  them  identical  curtains.  I  wish  —  but 
I  sha'n't  tell  the  poor  child's  secrets.  I  '11  say 
this:  the  next  time  you  see  Rose  Gaither 
a-passin'  by,  you  raise  your  hat  and  tell  her 
howdy,  and  you'll  git  the  sweetest  smile  that 
ever  man  got." 

"Miss  Jane!"  exclaimed  Jack  Carew,  "you 
are  the  best  woman  in  the  world." 

"Except  one,  I  reckon,"  said  Miss  Jane, 
dryly. 

Jack  Carew  rose  from  his  chair,  and  straight- 


A  PIECE   OF  LAND.  255- 

ened  himself  to  his  full  height.  He  was  a  new 
man.  Youth  and  hope  rekindled  their  firea 
in  his  eyes.  The  flush  of  enthusiasm  revisited 
his  face. 

"  I  feel  like  a  new  man ;  I  am  a  new  man ! " 
he  exclaimed.  Then  he  glanced  at  the  pitiful 
figure,  maundering  and  sputtering  across  the 
way.  "  I  am  going  home,"  he  went  on,  "  and 
put  father  to  bed  and  nurse  him  and  take  care 
of  him  just  as  if  —  well,  just  as  if  I  was  his 
mother." 

"  The  Lord  '11  love  you  for  it,  Jack,"  said 
Miss  Jane,  "  and  so  '11  Rose  Gaither.  When 
ever'thing  else  happens,"  she  continued  sol- 
emnly, "  put  your  trust  in  the  Lord,  and  don't 
have  no  misdoubts  of  Rose." 

The  superstition  that  recognizes  omens  and 
portents  we  are  apTTo  laugh  at  ad  VHlgar,-bnHt 
has  an  enduring  basis  in  the  fact  that  no  cir- 
•mmstance  can  be  regarded  as  absolutely  trivial. 
Brents  apparently  the  most  trifling  lead~T» 
th«  most  tremendous  results.  The  wisest  of 


know   not    by    what   process    the   casual   is 


256  A   PIECE   OF  LAND. 

transformed  into  the  dreadful,  nor  how  accident 
is  twisted  into  fate. 

Jack  Carew  visited  the  Inchlys  almost  daily ; 
yet  if  he  had  postponed  the  visit,  the  purport 
of  which  has  been  given  above,  the  probability 
is  that  he  would  have  been  spared  much  suffer- 
ing ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  would  have  missed 
much  happiness  that  came  to  him  at  a  time 
of  life  when  he  was  best  prepared  to  appreciate 
it.  He  had  determined  in  his  own  mind  to 
sell  the  little  land  and  the  few  negroes  he  had 
saved  from  the  wreck  his  father's  extravagance 
had  made;  he  had  determined  to  sell  these, 
and  slip  away  with  his  father  to  a  new  life 
in  the  West;  but  his  conversation  with  Miss 
Jane  gave  him  new  hope  and  courage,  so  that 
when  Bradley  Gaither,  a  few  weeks  afterwards, 
offered  to  buy  the  Carew  place  for  two  or  three 
times  its  value,  he  received  a  curt  and  con- 
temptuous message  of  refusal. 

Young  Carew  was  high-strung  and  sensitive 
even  as  a  boy,  and  events  had  only  served  to 
develop  these  traits.  When  he  was  compelled 


A  PIECE  OF  LAND.  257 

to  leave  college  to  take  charge  of  his  father's 
affairs,  he  felt  that  his  name  was  disgraced 
forever.  He  found,  however,  that  all  who 
had  known  him  were  anxious  to  hold  up  his 
hands,  and  to  give  him  such  support  as  one 
friend  is  prepared  to  give  another.  If  the 
Pinetuckians  were  simple-minded,  they  were 
also  sympathetic.  There  was  something  gra- 
cious as  well  as  wholesome  in  their  attitude. 
The  men  somehow  succeeded  in  impressing 
him  with  a  vague  idea  that  they  had  passed 
through  just  such  troubles  in  their  young 
days.  The  idea  was  encouraging,  and  Jack 
Carew  made  the  most  of  it. 

But  he  never  thought  of  Rose  Gaither  with- 
out a  sense  of  deepest  humiliation.  He  had 
loved  Rose  when  they  were  school-children 
together,  but  his  passion  had  now  reached  such 
proportions  that  he  deeply  resented  the  fact 
that  his  school-boy  love  had  been  so  careless 
and  shallow  a  feeling.  Now  that  circumstances 
had  placed  her  beyond  his  reach,  he  regret- 
ted that  his  youthful  love  experience  was  not 
17 


258  A  PIECE  OF  LAND. 

worthier  of  the  place  it  held  in  his  remem- 
brance. He  could  forget  that  Rose  Gaither 
was  the  daughter  of  the  man  to  whom  he  at- 
tributed his  troubles,  but  he  could  never  for- 
get that  he  himself  was  the  son  of  a  man 
whose  weakness  had  found  him  out  at  an  age 
when  manhood  ought  to  have  made  him  strong. 

Still,  Jack  Carew  made  the  most  of  a  bad 
situation.  He  had  the  courage,  the  endurance, 
and  the  hopefulness  of  youth.  He  faced  his 
perplexities  with  at  least  the  appearance  of 
good  humor ;  and  if  he  had  his  moments  of  de- 
spair, when  the  skeleton  in  the  jug  in  the  closet 
paraded  in  public,  Pinetucky  never  suspected 
it.  The  truth  is,  while  Pinetucky  was  sympa- 
thetic and  neighborly,  it  was  not  inclined  to 
make  a  great  fuss  over  those  who  took  a  dram 
too  much  now  and  then.  Intemperance  was  an 
evil,  to  be  sure ;  but  even  intemperance  had  its 
humorous  side  in  those  days,  and  Pinetucky 
was  apt  to  look  at  the  humorous  side. 

One  fine  morning,  however,  Pinetucky  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  it  was  the  centre  and  scene  of 


A  PIECE  OF  LAND.  259 

a  decided  sensation.  Ruinor  pulled  on  her  bon- 
net and  boots,  and  went  gadding  about  like  mad. 
Pinetucky  was  astonished,  then  perplexed,  then 
distressed,  and  finally  indignant,  as  became_a 
conservative  and  moral  community.  A  little 
after  sunrise,  Bradley  Gaither  had  galloped  up 
to  Squire  Inchly's  door  with  the  information 
that  two  bales  of  cotton  had  been  stolen  from 
his  place  the  night  before. 

The  facts,  as  set  forth  by  Bradley  Gaither, 
were  that  he  had  twelve  bales  of  cotton  ready 
for  market.  The  twelve  bales  had  been  loaded 
upon  three  wagons,  and  the  wagons  were  to 
start  for  Augusta  at  daybreak.  At  the  last 
moment,  when  everything  was  ready,  the  teams 
harnessed  and  the  drivers  in  their  seats,  it  was 
discovered  that  two  bales  of  the  cotton  were 
missing.  Fortunately,  it  had  rained  during  the 
night,  and  Bradley  Gaither  had  waited  until  it 
was  light  enough  to  make  an  investigation.  He 
found  that  a  wagon  had  been  driven  to  his 
packing-screw.  He  saw,  moreover,  that  but 
one  wagon  had  passed  along  the  road  after  the 


260  A  PIECE  OF  LAND. 

rain,  and  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  follow  the 
tracks. 

The  fact  of  the  theft  had  surprised  Squire 
Inehly,  but  the  details  created  consternation  in 
his  mind.  The  tracks  of  the  wagon  led  to  the 
Carew  place!  Squire  Inchly  was  prompt  with 
a  rebuke. 

"  Why,  you  've  woke  up  wi'  a  joke  in  your 
mouth,  Mr.  Gaither.  Now  that  you've  spit  it 
out,  let's  start  fresh.  A  spiteful  joke  before 
breakfus'  '11  make  your  flesh  crawl  arter  sup- 
per, Mr.  Gaither." 

Squire  Inchly  spoke  seriously,  as  became  a 
magistrate.  Bradley  Gaither's  thin  lips  grew 
thinner  as  he  smiled. 

"  I  'm  as  serious  as  the  thieves  that  stole  my 
cotton,  Squire  Inchly,"  he  said. 

"  Two  whole  bales  of  cotton  in  these  days  is 
a  heavy  loss,"  said  the  Squire,  reflectively.  "  I 
hope  you'll  ketch  the  inconsiderate  parties  to 
the  larceny." 

"  If  you  will  go  with  me,  Squire,  we  '11  call 
by  for  Brother  Gossett  and  Colonel  Hightower, 


A   PIECE   OF  LAND.  261 

aid  if  I'm  not  mistaken  we'll  find  the  cotton 
not  far  from  here." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  Squire,  indignantly, 
"you  won't  find  it  on  the  Carew  place.  I'll 
go  wi'  you  and  welcome.  We  don't  need  no 
search-warrant." 

The  long  and  the  short  of  it  was  that  the  cot- 
ton was  found  concealed  in  Jack  Carew's  rick- 
ety barn  under  a  pile  of  fodder.  Of  those  who 
joined  Bradley  Gaither  in  the  search,  not  one 
believed  that  the  cotton  would  be  found  on  the 
Carew  place ;  and  some  of  them  had  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  suggest  to  Mr.  Gaither  that  his  sus- 
picions had  been  fathered  by  his  prejudices ;  but 
that  injured  individual  merely  smiled  his  cold 
little  smile,  and  declared  that  there  could  be  no 
harm  in  following  the  wagon  tracks.  This  was 
reasonable  enough ;  and  the  result  was  that  not 
only  was  the  cotton  found,  but  the  wagon  stand- 
ing under  the  shelter  and  two  mules  at  the 
trough  in  the  lot,  showed  signs  of  having  been 
lately  used. 

These  things  so  shocked  those  who  had  gone 


262  A  PIECE  OF  LAND. 

with  Bradley  Gaither  that  they  had  little  to 
say.  They  stood  confounded.  They  could  not 
successfully  dispute  the  evidence  of  their  eyes. 

They  were  simple-minded  men,  and  therefore 
sympathetic.  Each  one  felt  ashamed.  They  did 
not  look  into  each  other's  eyes  and  give  utter- 
ance to  expressions  of  astonishment.  They  said 
nothing;  but  each  one,  with  the  exception  of 
Bradley  Gaither,  fell  into  a  state  of  mental 
confusion  akin  to  awe.  When  Bradley  Gaither, 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  asked  them  if  they 
were  satisfied,  they  said  nothing,  but  turned 
and  walked  away  one  after  the  other. 

They  turned  and  walked  away  and  went  to 
their  homes;  and  somehow,  after  that,  though 
the  sun  shone  as  brightly  and  the  birds  flut- 
tered and  sang  as  joyously,  a  silence  fell  upon 
Pinetucky,  —  a  silence  full  of  austerity.  The 
men  talked  in  subdued  tones  when  they  met, 
as  though  they  expected  Justice  to  discharge 
one  of  her  thunderbolts  at  their  feet ;  and  the 
women  went  about  their  duties  with  a  degree  of 
nervousness  that  was  aptly  described  by  Miss 


A   PIECE   OF  LAND.  263 

Jane  Inchly  long  afterwards,  when  reciting  the 
experiences  of  that  most  memorable  day  in  the 
history  of  Pinetucky.  "  I  let  a  sifter  drop 
out  'n  my  hand,"  said  she,  u  and  I  declare  to 
gracious  if  it  didn't  sound  like  a  cannon  had 
went  off." 

In  all  that  neighborhood  the  Carews,  father 
and  son,  had  but  one  accuser,  and  not  one 
apologist.  Pinetucky  existed  in  a  primitive 
period,  as  we  are  in  the  habit  of  believing 
now,  and  its  people  were  simple-minded  people. , 
In  this  age  of  progress  and  culture  morality 
and  justice  are  arrayed  in  many  refinements 
of  speech  and  thought.  They  have  been  re- 
adjusted, so  to  speak,  by  science ;  but  in  Pine- 
tucky in  the  forties,  morality  and  justice  were 
as  robust  and  as  severe  as  they  are  in  the 
Bible. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  machinery  of  jus- 
tice had'  been  set  in  motion  that  Pinetucky 
allowed  itself  to  comment  on  the  case ;  but  the 
comment  was  justified  by  the  peculiar  conduct 
of  the  Carews.  When  they  were  confronted 


264  A   PIECE  OF  LAND. 

with  the  facts,  —  the  cotton  concealed  in  the 
barn  and  the  warrant  in  the  hands  of  the  sher- 
iff, —  old  Billy  Carew  fell  a-trembling  as  though 
he  had  the  palsy.  Jack  had  turned  pale  as 
death,  and  had  made  a  movement  toward 
Bradley  Gaither  as  though  to  offer  violence ; 
but  when  he  saw  his  father  shaking  so,  the 
color  returned  to  his  face,  and  he  exclaimed 
quickly,  — 

"  The  warrant  is  for  me  alone,  Mr.  Sheriff. 
Pay  no  attention  to  father.  He  is  old,  and  his 
mind  is  weak." 

"  He 's  a  liar  !  "  the  old  man  screamed,  when 
he  found  his  voice.  "  He  's  a  miserable  liar ! 
He  never  stole  that  cotton.  Don't  tetch  him! 
don't  you  dast  to  tetch  him  !  He  '11  lie  to  you, 
but  he  won't  steal  your  cotton  !  Put  my  name 
in  that  warrant.  Bradley  Gaither  stole  my 
money  and  land ;  I  reckon  I  've  got  the  rights 
to  steal  his  cotton." 

"He's  drunk  again,"  said  Jack.  "We'll 
carry  him  in  the  house,  and  then  I'll  be  ready 
to  go  with  you." 


A   PIECE   OF  LAND.  265 

But  the  old  man  was  not  carried  to  the  house 
without  a  scene.  He  raved,  and  screamed,  and 
swore,  and  finally  fell  to  the  ground  in  a  fit  of 
impotent  rage,  protesting  to  the  last  that  Jack 
was  a  liar.  When  those  who  were  present  had 
been  worked  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excite- 
ment, Bradley  Gaither  spoke. 

"  Don't  criminate  yourself,  Jack.  I  am  will- 
ing to  drop  this  matter."  He  appeared  to  be 
greatly  agitated. 

"Drop  what  matter?"  exclaimed  young  Ca- 
rew  in  a  passion.  "  I  have  a  matter  with  you, 
sir,  that  won't  be  dropped." 

"  Go  your  ways,  then,"  said  Bradley  Gaither ; 
"  I  've  done  my  duty."  With  that  he  mounted 
his  horse,  and  Jack  Carew  was  left  in  the 
hands  of  the  sheriff. 

The  machinery  of  the  law  was  not  as  difficult 
to  set  in  motion  in  those  days  as  it  is  now. 
There  was  no  delay.  Pinetucky  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  trial,  and  during  the  two  days 
of  its  continuance  delegations  of  Pinetuckians 
were  present  as  spectators.  Some  of  these  were 


266  A  PIECE   OF  LAND. 

summoned  to  testify  to  the  good  character  of 
young  Carew,  and  this  they  did  with  a  simplic- 
ity that  was  impressive ;  but  neither  their  testi- 
mony nor  the  efforts  of  the  distinguished 
counsel  for  the  defence,  Colonel  Peyton  Poin- 
dexter,  had  any  effect.  The  facts  and  the  tacit 
admissions  of  Jack  were  against  him.  Colonel 
Poindexter's  closing  speech  was  long  remem- 
bered and  indeed  is  alluded  to  even  now,  as 
the  most  eloquent  and  impressive  ever  delivered 
in  the  court-house  in  Rockville ;  but  it  failed  to 
convince  the  jury.  A  verdict  in  accordance 
with  the  facts  and  testimony  was  brought  in, 
and  Jack  Carew  was  sentenced  to  serve  a  term 
in  the  penitentiary  at  Milledgeville. 

The  first  to  bring  this  information  to  Pine- 
tucky  was  Bradley  Gaither  himself.  He  stopped 
at  Squire  Inchly's  for  his  daughter,  and  went  in. 

"  What 's  the  news  ?  "  asked  Miss  Jane. 

"  Bad,  very  bad  news,"  said  Bradley  Gaither. 

"  Jack  ain't  hung,  I  reckon,"  said  Miss  Jane. 
"  My  mind  tells  me,  day  and  night,  that  the  poor 
boy  is  innocent  as  the  child  that's  unborn." 


A  PIECE   OF  LAND.  267 

"Innocent  or  guilty,"  said  Bradley  Gaither, 
u  he  has  been  sent  to  the  penitentiary." 

Miss  Jane  gave  a  quick  glance  at  Rose,  and 
was  just  in  time  to  catch  her  as  she  fell  from 
her  chair. 

"  Ah,  poor  child ! "  cried  Miss  Jane,  "  her 
heart  is  broke ! " 

"  Rose  !  —  Daughter  !  —  Darling ! "  exclaimed 
Bradley  Gaither,  dropping  on  his  knees  beside 
her.  "  Oh,  what  is  this  ?  What  have  I  done  ? 
Speak  to  her,  Miss  Inchly !  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 
He  was  pale  as  death,  and  his  features  worked 
convulsively. 

"  Do  nothin',  Mr.  Gaither.  You  've  done 
more  'n  you  can  undo  a'ready.  You  've  took 
and  give  that  poor  boy  over  for  to  be  perse- 
cuted, Mr.  Gaither,  and  now  the  innocent  suffers 
and  the  wicked  goes  scotch-free." 

Bradley  Gaither  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  and  groaned  aloud. 

"What  have  I  done?  What  have  I  done?" 
he  cried. 

Miss  Jane  supported  the  girl  in  her  strong 


268  A   PIECE   OF  LAND. 

arms  with  a  grim  display  of  affection,  but  her 
attitude  towards  Bradley  Gaither  was  uncom- 
promising. 

"  Don't  alarm  yourself,  Mr.  Gaither,"  she 
said ;  "  this  poor  child  '11  come  round  quick 
enough.  Folks  don't  fling  off  their  misery 
this  easy!" 

Rose  revived  after  awhile,  but  she  seemed 
to  have  no  desire  to  talk  to  her  father.  After 
a  copious  use  of  camphor,  Miss  Jane  fixed  the 
girl  comfortably  on  the  lounge,  and  she  lay 
there  and  gazed  at  the  ceiling,  the  picture 
of  wide-eyed  despair.  Bradley  Gaither  paced 
the  floor  like  one  distracted.  His  sighs  were 
heart-rending.  When  Miss  Jane  succeeded  in 
getting  him  out  of  the  room,  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  entry,  moving  his  lips  and  groaning 
as  though  in  great  mental  agony.  Failing  to 
understand  what  emotions  he  was  at  the  mercy 
of,  Miss  Jane  failed  to  sympathize  with  him. 
To  her  mind,  his  display  of  grief  bore  no  sort 
of  proportion  to  the  cause,  and  she  had 
a  woman's  contempt  for  any  manifestation 


A  PIECE   OF  LAND.  269 

of  weakness  in  man,  even  the  weakness  of 
grief. 

"I'll  pray  to  the  Lord  to  forgive  me!"  he 
cried  out  piteously. 

"That's  right,"  exclaimed  Miss  Jane,  in  her 
decisive  way.  "But  if  the  grace  of  pra'r  was 
in  the  hinges  of  the  knee,  I  know  a  heap  of 
folks  that'd  be  mighty  easy  in  the  mind." 

Every  word  she  spoke  cut  like  a  knife,  but  not 
until  long  after  did  Miss  Inchly  realize  the  fact. 
When  she  did  realize  it,  it  is  to  be  feared  she 
hugged  the  remembrance  of  it  to  her  bosom 
with  a  sort  of  grim  thankfulness  that  Provi- 
dence had  so  happily  fashioned  her  words  and 
directed  her  tongue. 

As  time  passed  on,  the  Pinetuckians  became 
aware  that  a  great  change  had  come  over  both 
Bradley  Gaither  and  his  daughter.  The  father 
grew  old  before  his  time,  and  fell  into  a  de- 
cline, as  his  neighbors  expressed  it.  The 
daughter  grew  more  beautiful,  but  it  was  beauty 
of  a  kind  that  belongs  to  devoutness ;  so  that, 
in  contemplating  it,  the  minds  of  men  were 


270  A  PIECE   OF  LAND. 

led  in  the  direction  of  mercy  and  charity  and 
all  manner  of  good  deeds. 

One  night,  a  year  or  more  after  the  trial 
and  sentence  of  Jack  Carew,  a  negro  on  horse- 
back rode  to  Squire  Inchly's  door,  and  said 
that  his  master,  Bradley  Gaither,  desired  the 
Squire  to  come  to  him  at  once.  The  worthy 
magistrate  was  prompt  to  obey  the  summons ; 
and  when  he  arrived  at  the  Gaither  place,  he 
found  that  the  preacher  and  other  neighbors 
had  also  been  summoned.  Bradley  Gaither 
lay  upon  his  bed,  surrounded  by  these,  and 
it  was  plain  to  see  that  his  sands  of  life  had 
nearly  run  out.  He  presented  a  spectacle  of 
dissolution  calculated  to  arouse  the  sympathies 
of  those  who  stood  around  his  bed. 

After  Squire  Inchly  arrived,  Bradley  Gaither 
lay  a  little  while  with  his  eyes  closed  as  in  a 
dream.  Then  he  motioned  to  his  daughter, 
who  drew  from  beneath  his  pillow  a  few  sheets 
of  letter-paper  stained  and  blotted  with  ink. 
These  she  handed  to  the  minister. 

"  Read  it  aloud,"  said  Bradley  Gaither.    The 


A  PIECE   OF  LAND.  271 

minister,  with  some  degree  of  embarrassment, 
adjusted  his  spectacles  and  read :  — 

"  With  this  paper  will  be  found  my  last  will 
and  testament.  I  am  unhappy,  but  I  should 
be  less  miserable  if  I  knew  I  could  put  such 
meaning  in  these  lines  as  no  man  could  mis- 
understand. I  have  sinned  against  an  innocent 
man,  I  have  sinned  against  my  dear  daughter, 
I  have  sinned  against  myself,  I  have  sinned 
against  God.  I  have  been  guilty  of  a  great 
wrong,  and  though  I  cannot  forgive  myself, 
yet  I  hope  to  be  forgiven.  John  Carew,  who 
is  now  in  prison,  is  an  innocent  man.  I  cov- 
eted his  land.  In  my  worldly-mindedness,  I 
set  my  heart  upon  his  possessions.  I  offered 
him  double  their  value.  I  thought  he  treated 
me  with  contempt,  and  then  I  hit  upon  a 
plan  to  drive  him  out.  I  carried  the  cotton 
to  his  barn  and  hid  it.  He  knew  no  more 
about  it  than  any  honest  man.  But,  as  God 
is  my  judge,  I  did  not  foresee  the  end.  I 
thought  he  would  compromise  and  sell  the  land 
and  go  away.  At  the  last  the  law  took  the 


272  A  PIECE   OF  LAND. 

matter  out  of  my  hands.  John  Carew  believes 
that  he  is  suffering  punishment  in  place  of 
his  father ;  but  William  Carew  is  as  honest 
as  his  son,  and  no  man  could  be  honester  than 
that.  I,  Bradley  Gaither,  being  in  my  right 
mind  and  of  sound  memory,  do  hereby  charge 
myself  with  the  crime  for  which  John  Carew 
has  been  adjudged  guilty.  Let  the  disgrace  of 
it  be  attached  to  me  alone.  The  sin  of  it  I 
hope  a  merciful  God  will  forgive." 

This  document  was  duly  signed  and  wit- 
nessed. When  the  preacher  reached  the  end, 
he  said,  "  Let  us  pray ; "  and  while  that  prayer,, 
as  fervent  as  simplicity  could  make  it,  was, 
ascending  heavenward,  the  soul  of  Bradley 
Gaither  took  its  flight. 

"  I  glanced  at  him  arter  the  breath  left  him,'* 
said  Squire  Inchly,  relating  the  facts  to  his. 
sister,  "  and  he  looked  like  a  man  that  had 
shook  hisself  free  from  a  heap  of  vrorriment. 
I  hope  he  's  at  peace,  I  do,  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart." 

The  confession  was  received  with  great  won? 


A  PIECE  OF  LAND.  273 

der  in  Pinetucky ;  but  there  was  not  one  among 
the  Pinetuckians  who  did  not  believe  that  Brad- 
ley Gaither  was  a  better  man  at  bottom  than 
his  life  had  shown  him  to  be,  —  not  one,  in- 
deed, who  did  not  believe  that  his  grievous 
errors  were  among  the  dispensations  which  an 
all-wise  Providence  employs  to  chasten  the 
proud  and  humble  the  vainglorious. 

When  Jack  Carew  returned  to  his  friends, 
he  made  his  way  straight  to  Squire  Inchly's. 
He  was  not  much  changed,  but  the  sight  of 
him  gave  Miss  Jane  the  cue  for  tears.  These, 
however,  she  dried  immediately,  and,  with  a 
smile  that  Jack  remembered  long,  motioned 
towards  the  little  sitting-room. 

"  Go  in  there,  Jack.  A  man  ought  n't  ttf 
grumble  at  waitin'  for  his  dinner  if  he  knows 
he'll  git  pie." 

In  the  little  sitting-room  Rose  Gaither  wa* 
waiting  for  him. 


. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA, 

LIBRARY. 


I 


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